


just keep your eyes on me

by segmentcalled, Trigonometrical



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Backstory, Communication, Getting Together, Hook-Up, Love Confessions, M/M, Mature Competent Professional Gays, Mild Dysphoria, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexuality, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trigonometrical/pseuds/Trigonometrical
Summary: Pat’s pretty sure the mics catch his laugh at Brian’s melodica improv before they shut off, but that’s okay. Brian keeps playing little snippets of theme songs, funky chord progressions, as Pat shuts everything off, but when Pat closes the laptop Brian puts the melodica down and looks at him.Pat’s anxiety dropped out of him like someone had opened a trap door beneath it the second the cameras were off, and now he’s a little shaky and jittery and kind of giddy and he smiles at Brian, who is positively beaming, who is — who is really close to Pat, right now, looking at him with those hazel eyes. Who was gentle and didn’t tease him unkindly even once and who all butasked him outin the middle of the fucking stream?
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Comments: 22
Kudos: 101





	just keep your eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE TRIG AND I HAVE COME TO DELIVER THE ~24K PWP THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR. YOU'RE WELCOME  
this was a SUPER FUN joint effort and i hope that someday we might do something else like this again but IN THE MEANTIME, PLEASE ENJOY THIS THING WE HAVE MADE
> 
> * * *
> 
> ALSO, A CONTENT WARNING NOTE: there are parts of this fic that get into the ways sexuality intersects with gender and how that can be a confusing/complicated/nuanced situation for trans people over the course of their lives AKA identifying as like basically goddamn every letter of the l g b t and q at some point in your life and trying to navigate that both internally and in your relationships (both in good ways and also ways that are really hard), cause That Happens! In Real Life! this means there's talk of old identities and also a past relationship that didn't work out, so, fair warning. also there is a moment of mild dysphoria timez but it's not a heavy moment and it passes
> 
> ANYWAY  
THANK YOU TRIG xA ZILLION FOR BEING THE BEST COWRITER AND I HOPE YALL LIKE THIS!!!!
> 
> -segs ♥

Pat’s pretty sure the mics catch his laugh at Brian’s melodica improv before they shut off, but that’s okay. Brian keeps playing little snippets of theme songs, funky chord progressions, as Pat shuts everything off, but when Pat closes the laptop Brian puts the melodica down and looks at him.

Pat’s anxiety dropped out of him like someone had opened a trap door beneath it the second the cameras were off, and now he’s a little shaky and jittery and kind of giddy and he smiles at Brian, who is positively beaming, who is — who is really close to Pat, right now, looking at him with those hazel eyes. Who was gentle and didn’t tease him unkindly even once and who all but _asked him out_ in the middle of the fucking stream?

And apparently Pat’s common sense left with his anxiety, because he gives into impulse for once in his life and reaches for Brian as Brian opens his mouth to speak, and Brian looks confused for a second, like he’s wondering what Pat’s trying to get ahold of, and then his eyes go wide in understanding, before they flutter shut as he tilts his chin up to catch Pat’s lips against his.

It’s supposed to be just one kiss — it’s not supposed to be _any_ kisses, actually — but Brian surges closer to him like he’s trying to show how very on board with this he is, and Pat is only human. He parts his lips to let Brian lick into his mouth with all the eager enthusiasm Pat could’ve ever dreamed of. His arms are tight around Pat’s shoulders, as Pat gets him around the waist and pulls him closer.

There’s a corner of his brain that is fully aware of how stupid and reckless this is, but Brian fully turns his body towards Pat and half-crawls into Pat’s lap and it’s — it’s _so_ good, is the thing, Brian’s hot mouth on Pat’s mouth and his hands on Pat’s back and his body pressed against Pat’s chest, kissing like his life fucking depends on it. Pat doesn’t even know the last time someone came at him like this, as though they’d been wanting to and just needed permission to go for it.

So maybe he can be forgiven for sliding his hands down Brian’s back and grabbing his ass to pull him fully into his lap. For the rush of arousal that thrums through his veins at the little gasp Brian gives. For the way he kisses Brian like he needs it as much as he needs to breathe.

Brian pushes a hand into Pat’s hair and braces the other on the couch behind Pat’s head, adjusts his angle so he can get closer to Pat, and also so Pat can properly feel up his ass and thighs, which is an opportunity he gladly takes. Brian makes a soft, hungry sound against Pat’s mouth, and Pat gives a similar sound in response, encouraging him.

Brian pushes at Pat, then, gets him to turn and get his legs up on the couch and barely breaks the kiss in the interim, even when their teeth clack clumsily, and this is, wow yep definitely this would be a compromising position, as Brian drags his hands over Pat’s chest, palms at his pecs as if he’s not scrawny as hell, nips at Pat’s lower lip. Pat can’t believe — well, and then he thinks about it for a second and it makes perfect sense — but he didn’t expect Brian to take initiative like this, didn’t expect him to push Pat back against the armrest of the couch and kiss him thoroughly and meticulously, as if taking notes on what makes Pat respond, makes him draw sharp little gasps.

The problem with the Vox studios is that when someone lets the door slam on their room, it rattles all the other doors along the same wall. There’s signs — _STOP SLAMMING THE DOORS ty, management_ — but someone must forget their manners on account of it’s considerably after hours and there’s a clatter from next door and their door shakes and Pat comes to his senses all at once.

Oh god, he’d just — and they’d just — 

It’s still a little hard to think, his brain buzzing and his lips still moving against Brian’s, slowly, teasing out soft sounds even as the door rattles against its hinges. But he _can’t_, they _can’t_ be doing this here, not just the studio but also, like, this mortal coil. 

He pulls away and Brian squeaks in protest. The sound alone is almost enough to get Pat to reconsider, but he gathers all his self-control and takes his hands off Brian, slides his hands out from under Brian’s perfect ass, _god, fuck_, and firmly plants them on the couch beside him. 

Brian blinks a few times, like he’s reorienting himself, still balanced over Pat’s legs. He’s absolutely gorgeous, his lips kiss-pinked and his hair sticking out in about twelve different directions from where his head had rubbed against the back of the couch. Brian untangles his hands from Pat’s hair but sets his wrists on Pat’s shoulders like he still wants to keep him close. 

“Brian, we —” and wow, Pat’s voice is more hoarse than he thought it would be. He clears his throat while he tries to collect his thoughts — how does one tell someone, tell Brian all the things swirling around in Pat’s head?

_We work together — _

_I’m trans and I don’t know if that’s a dealbreaker but I hope not because you don’t seem like an asshole — _

_I’m too old for you — _

_I’m not so good at relationships, turns out — _

_You deserve someone who has their shit together — _

_You deserve someone who isn’t me. _

Pat sighs and runs a hand over his face. Fuck. He doesn’t know where to look, but he says, voice a little ragged, “I really like you, Brian, but — we shouldn’t.” And he leaves it there. Simple. Clean. Somehow conveying all of the above in one tidy little contraction. 

Brian gives the same sort of sad sigh that Pat just did. Pushes a hand backwards through his hair. “Yeah,” he says, “I know. You’re right.”

There is a weighted pause between them. Pat isn’t sure what to say. Brian isn’t looking at him. Pat leans forward just a little, tilts his head to catch Brian’s eyes. Brian’s face holds emotions that Pat couldn’t even begin to understand, to interpret.

“Let’s not make it weird?” Pat says, and Brian gives a huff of a laugh.

“‘Course, Pat Gill. I am the, uh. The epitome of professionalism, I’ll have you know.” It is a weak joke; Brian’s smile is weak.

Pat looks at him. Looks away. Runs a hand through his hair. Looks back at Brian, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“One more for the road?” Pat says, because he loves to bait disaster.

“Okay,” Brian breathes. He cups Pat’s face in his hands and kisses him, so sweet and soft and slow that it aches deep in Pat’s chest. They linger in the moment when they break apart, eyes closed, breathing against each other’s lips.

The longing is going to be fucking _intolerable_. But Pat’s no stranger to it. His hand finds Brian’s, squeezes it once. Brian squeezes back, and then lets go. He stands, moves away to let Pat up, and without another word they busy themselves with tidying the studio for whatever’s happening there tomorrow.

* * *

It’s not like this is new for Pat. Any of it, really. The gay crisis is finally — mostly — in the past; the big ol’ crush on a coworker isn’t even sort of a novelty; even livestreaming with regularity with said crush isn’t new territory. It’s just… the proximity is a lot to handle.

Brian is right there. All the time. Sits to his left every Wednesday evening and tries to make Pat laugh for two hours. Drifts past his desk to ask questions or chat or be nosey about whatever it is Pat’s working on. He’s grateful that they’ve managed to maintain a sense of normalcy between them; Brian had said hello to him cheerfully the next morning, didn’t even blush or avoid looking at him. Like it was somehow as easy as that, like he could just file it away into _well, that happened_ and slot it into his life as he would any regular ol’ Wednesday night.

If he feels differently, there’s no way to tell. He’s still the same sunny high-energy Brian David Gilbert he’s always been.

Pat sighs and pushes his glasses up to his forehead, rubs his hands over his face. He peeks at his computer screen between his fingers. Four forty-five. 

He can do this.

The thing is, is, like, it’s not like there’s much of a dating pool here. Well. That’s inaccurate. He lives in New York City; there’s people _everywhere_. But not at work, not with Polygon’s little team. The idea of putting himself any further out there into the unknown is terrifying. Fuck, he hasn’t even dated since he got divorced, not really.

Oh, this is a great line of thought while he’s bracing for _Gill & Gilbert_. Good job, Patrick, now it’s time to be double angsty, apparently. He runs his hands through his hair and exhales slowly. Forty-five minutes until he has to go set shit up. He can just keep editing, and quit fucking _worrying_ for once in his life. They’re not even doing anything scary, this time. Not even anything he’s allergic to.

And it’s not like this is ruling his life. It’s not like he’s constantly ruminating on — well, okay, only a little.

He had the majority of his gay crisis (part _deux_) last year, when he developed a particularly vicious crush on Griffin McElroy that he never breathed a word about to anyone. That’d freaked him out real good. He’d thought, previous to that, that he was only into women — that’s how his whole life had been. That was the defining characteristic he had centered his identity and presentation around for, for _decades. I like women, and fuck you if you don’t accept that._

But now he’s into men with perhaps the same fervor, and what should be exciting is sometimes chilling and anxiety-attack inducing because there’s no one to talk to about this crisis-but-not. People in New York would just think it was gay panic, but it’s maybe the opposite? Or maybe double the thing? Pat doesn’t know how to classify his situation. How do you explain to someone that you can really get all up in the LGBTQ acronym because you’ve been _every_ letter, sometimes all of the letters at once?

It’s just — these past few years have been. Uh. A lot, to put it mildly. Coming to terms with the way his life turned completely upside-down, still feeling waves of it like the aftershocks of an earthquake. And not a single person in New York can help him anymore because no one _knows_ who he was before — on purpose — and like, what, he’s gonna make all the details public knowledge? The intricate, messy, no-one’s-fault-but-we-both-got-hurt mess of his marriage crumbling, his life crumbling while simultaneously being the happiest and freest he’s ever felt? Fuck that noise. 

But it’s still lonely. Isolating. To not have anyone in his corner anymore. Fuck, even for most of the time they were drifting apart, his wife would listen to his convoluted rambling about masculinity, and what people think it means to be a man, and what he thinks it means to be a man, and how the ways in which he experiences the world shifted as he started to be read as a man on the regular.

About five years ago, give or take, one of Pat’s friends had come out as trans, and he’d gone on an intensive week-long research deep dive to make sure he wouldn’t fuck anything up. Like, okay, he’s a queer millennial so of course he knew that trans people existed, of course, it’s just — it seemed so hypothetical. Distant. Like it was something for other people, not for him. Such a big and mysterious concept. But then his friend started their transition and suddenly it was neither of those things. So he’d wanted to — wanted to be a good friend, wanted to read up on the subject to avoid sticking his foot in his mouth.

He’d stayed up ‘til nearly five in the morning, with work the next day, reading with his knuckles pressed to his mouth and his heart pounding and his eyes wide as he read account after account of people like — like _him_, men who put words to things he’d never been able to articulate to himself but that he’d been feeling his whole life. How he’d never quite felt settled, not even after he’d chopped off all his hair and got rid of all his dresses and walked his stompy boots over to the queer resource center sophomore year of college.

The thing about a small community is that everyone knows everyone else, or at least knows of everyone else — and especially when it's a small college community, it feels like everyone is everyone else's ex. Pat had pretty quickly worked his way through most of the community, his dark, intense eyes and broody-yet-giggly demeanor as well as his reputation preceding him: a good hookup with a gift for oral sex, who almost never wanted any reciprocation from his partners. Getting his partners off was satisfying enough and suited him just fine. He'd hated, at the time, for anyone to touch him, to look at him — often would stay in a shirt and underwear for the whole encounter. Wrote it off as some sort of internalized misogyny that he still hadn’t shaken even after finishing his gender studies minor, and he’d just keep on keepin’ on with his current method until it stopped working for him.

And then he met the woman who would become his wife. She wasn't interested in hooking up with him — _well, that’s not true_, she’d admitted with a giggle, later, _I definitely do want to_, but if Pat would be into it she’d actually maybe really love to go on a date sometime? 

Pat had been so charmed that he didn't even know what to do with himself but stutter out a yes absolutely of course.

She’d stuck around. He hadn’t expected her to. He’d figured she would bounce after a couple dates, but she openly admitted to being into him and that she was interested in being with him, like, for real. Even back then, being called — _ugh_ — being called her girlfriend stuck weirdly in his throat, but surely _that_ was just the internalized homophobia. Pat had had over two decades to internalize a lot of shit that he needed to unpack, no matter how long he’d been out. But the slight discomfort over something so simple as a word was worth it, he thought. They genuinely _clicked_ in a way he had never felt with anyone before. They worked well together, supported each other. Her genuine honesty did wonders for Pat’s more reserved nature, and, well, they just . . . kept doing it.

Shit got downright _idyllic_, after they graduated and moved in together: as years flew by and suddenly they had cats and a pending engagement for whenever the fuck it ended up being, like, legal for them to get married. And as soon as it was, they did.

They’d been together for, god, for over a half-decade, but they didn’t even last half that long after that.

They tried, they really, really did. But once Pat had admitted, if maybe not-yet accepted, that he was trans, that he was a man, he _knew_ way down in his bones that his life was about to take on a trajectory that he’d never, ever planned for. And neither had his wife. They both cried when he told her, both of them overwhelmed and unsure where to go from here. What the next steps were. What they were supposed to do. They had no road map for this, no guidelines.

But they talked. They talked a _lot_. Tried to figure out how to let this settle right between them. She was as supportive as she knew how to be, and Pat was — _is_ — grateful for that. For her. That she didn’t shut down, or shut him down. She listened, and held his hands, and he did the same for her.

They’d made a promise, they concluded. ‘Till death do they part. So. They’d try. They’d try their hardest to make it.

Pat closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids, heaves a deep sigh. God. He misses her, sometimes. He hopes she’s doing okay. They fell out of contact — he didn’t want to press into bruises, so he gave her space, and she never reached out, and he never reached out, and he doesn’t even remember what the last thing he said to her was.

She’d tried really, really hard. She was the kindest person Pat’s ever known. Patient, sweet, considerate, a huge dork. She’d held his hand for his first T shot. They both cried that day, too — Pat of joy, of the feeling of something deep inside him finally settling, clicking into place — his wife of something much more complicated than that, he’s sure. But she never wavered in her support. Took time off work to help him after the hysterectomy, and they still laughed and talked and sometimes cuddled or held hands and sometimes it even seemed like things were going to be able to be okay in the long term.

As Pat’s voice deepened, though, and as he did a giddy little dance in the bathroom when his facial hair stopped looking so pathetic, the attraction between them began to fade.

There was a night where they were playing a game together, probably _MarioKart_ or something, something with a local co-op and a lot of silliness. They were really getting into it, loud and rowdy banter as they were always wont to do. Except. Except when Pat’s voice got too loud, when she snuck past him at the last minute for a victory, she flinched. Pat pretended not to notice, they both pretended not to notice, but _fuck_. 

Transitioning into a position of power under a patriarchal structure was bizarre. Is bizarre. People started to interact with him differently — not just his partner, and not just random strangers, but people he’d known all his life. Friends. Family. People he’d never expected it from. He doesn’t even think they meant to, but — they talk to him differently, now. Show affection differently. Touch him differently. React differently to the things he says, the things he does.

When they both finally admitted that the relationship no longer worked, they didn’t see it as giving up. Or at least, they tried not to. They both knew it was healthier to leave than to stay in a relationship where neither of them were happy.

He’d moved back in with his parents, for a while. He needed someone to help him after top surgery anyway. And when he got the job in New York City, it was — _finally_ — the chance he needed to be somewhere where no one knew him _before_.

Simone dared him to call himself “the new daddy in town” in his introduction post. Pat had laughed harder at that than he’d laughed at anything in, jeez, in an uncomfortably long time, at the way that joke resonated deep into layers that Simone would have no way of knowing. He’d known, then, that this was exactly what he needed to do. Where he needed to be. To give himself a chance to learn what it actually meant to be himself.

Pat hates himself a little for it, sometimes. For what he did to her, even though neither of them had known better, even though nothing was his _fault_. If only he’d figured out everything earlier — that he’s gay, that he’s a man — he never would’ve broken her heart in the slow, drawn-out way he did. His own heart, too, right up alongside. It’s just — the way he’d felt with her, the way he wanted to look, the way he wanted to relate to the world — he’d figured that what he’d had was good enough, was close enough, until it crystallized into something that wasn’t.

He hadn’t felt gender the way he was supposed to, no matter what category he tried to slot himself into; his sexuality was a confusing and arcane mystery that he didn’t want to touch. Well, it’s still a confusing and arcane mystery, but in a totally different way. It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too hard, the way his gender intersects with his attraction. The way everything shifted as he figured himself out. He never ever wanted to be with a man as a woman — but as he slowly came to discover, it was more that he never wanted to be with a man as a _woman_, specifically.

And now he’s done a full heel-turn and the reverse seems to be true. He’d clung to old feelings for a long time — _god please I need just one single thing in my life to be consistent_ — but when he dredged up the gender feelings to examine them and do something about it, it turns out that there had been a lot more shit that came up with it, things he just couldn’t keep ignoring anymore.

He can’t figure out why it happened, or when, or how — or if there even is an answer to any of those questions — but ultimately, it turns out that when he thinks about what would make him happiest, about who he could see himself with now, it’s, well — someone like Griffin, or- or _Brian_, even though it definitely shouldn’t be. 

(For a memorable month or so it was Thomas, but then they’d made out last fall when both of them were stupid drunk and though it was good, they realized they were much, much better off as friends.)

He wishes he’d known a long time ago. He wishes he could’ve skipped the messy middle part and saved himself and everyone else in his life a whole bunch of pain. 

But honestly, when he really thinks about it, he wouldn’t change it. Even though it meant the second major sexuality crisis in his lifetime. Even though he’s still learning to navigate the landscape after this tectonic shift. Even though he doesn’t have anyone to make little stupid jokes with about how even though he’d done a complete one-eighty on everything, it all finally makes _sense_. For the first time in his life he feels at home in his own skin. 

“Patrick, are you going to help me set up or what?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses,” Pat grumbles, with no real bite to it. When he looks up, Brian is smiling, and god — of all the hundreds of unbelievable things in his life, he can’t believe he’s on earth at the same time as Brian David Gilbert just to make him smile like that. Brian walks beside Pat and bumps shoulders with him, enough to jostle him but not to make him fumble any of the things he’s holding.

It aches a little that all the stars have aligned but this last one, how he can look at Brian but can’t touch him for fear of being burned. Well, metaphorically _not touch_, anyway. They keep doing things that involve proximity. Giving each other the fucking _biker tattoos_, sticking pore strips all over each other’s faces, and whatever this fresh hell is that they’ve decided to do this week because they’re both stupid and love to push their limits — but no matter what, it’s professional touching only.

You know, like professionally writing your name on the inside of your coworker’s arm for a teaser video. Professionally letting your coworker touch your neck, while he lets you touch his, even though you both don’t like it (or, maybe, like it too much). Professionally watching with too-wide eyes as he pulls his shirt out of the way to reveal the brush of hair across his chest, so that you can professionally write _whatever the hell you want_ on him. Professionally fluttering your eyelids when he pushes your hair out of your face, like you couldn’t stop yourself even if you’d wanted to. 

Just professional things like that.

And, of course, today’s bullshit. _Climbing your friends_. That’s exactly what they need to be doing, after dancing around weeks and weeks of unresolved tension. Climb on each other.

If Pat doesn’t perish live on air he will be fucking grateful.

* * *

It turns out, much to Pat’s relief and also discomfort, that Brian has a much harder time keeping it together than Pat does. The restart for technical difficulties really seemed to throw Brian for a loop, he was panting and keyed-up from the get-go, all his manic energy unleashing in a tornado spiral around his body. And it wasn’t — 

Look, Pat has a hard time understanding when something _is_ flirting and when something _isn’t_, but even he couldn’t ignore the way Brian’s breath hitched whenever Pat picked him up, the tight-thready whines spilling from his lips. Pat _hopes_ he’s better than Brian at schooling his face into something placid, but damn is it easy to imagine those noises, Brian’s grabby hands, and his tight waist in another context.

“Straddle me this way,” Brian says, and Pat has no choice but to sign his own death certificate as he hops onto Brian’s body and Brian bounces him around — something about motion sickness, he says, some disdainful comment to hide the fact that Brian’s getting turned on and Pat is getting turned on right back.

Normally, by the time Gill and GIlbert ends, Pat is a yawning, sleepy mess of a boy, but tonight it’s like he slammed an energy drink instead of an Unnamed Tea. Want crackles under his skin in a way he hasn’t let himself feel since — since — in a really long fuckin’ time. The hair on his arms stands to attention as he turns off the stream, double checks that it’s off just in case, and settles next to Brian again for their normal post-G&G debrief circle-up time.

Except.

Brian’s _way_ closer than he normally is, turned sideways on the couch and definitely in Pat’s personal airspace, his mouth so close that Pat can feel the excited puffs of warm breath against his neck.

“Tell me not to,” Brian says, and Pat wants to quip something, anything to lighten the tension, pretend he doesn’t know what Brian’s talking about, but well. He’s never been a good liar, and he’s not about to start now.

“I can’t do that,” Pat says, his voice cracking, and Brian takes that for the _yes_ that it is. He places both of his hands on either side of Pat’s face, turns Pat fully toward him, and hauls Pat in for a hard press of a kiss.

Pat gasps at the first touch of their mouths together again after so long, and if he’d thought the first time that it was a coincidence how well they fit together, that’s proven to be a constant of Kissing Brian that Pat’s willing to replicate over and over again. Brian’s lips slide across his so gently even with the forceful press of their mouths, and Pat’s open-mouthed gasp trips both of them over into something more wicked, more heated, Brian’s talented tongue brushing across the line of Pat’s bottom lip. Pat pulls back to breathe, shakes his head on a laugh that starts at his toes and ends somewhere in Brian’s wanting mouth. 

“This is a bad idea, right?” Brian asks, scant centimeters away from Pat’s body.

“Oh, absolutely the worst,” Pat replies, before _finally_ threading his fingers through Brian’s hair again — so much longer than before, but no less soft.

That seems to undo the last bit of restraint tethering both of them, as Brian _melts_ into Pat’s touch, moans softly into Pat’s mouth as his tongue plies Pat’s lips apart. When Pat uses his grip on Brian’s hair to haul Brian fully into his lap — straddling Pat _on the streaming couch, god_ — it brings Brian deliciously closer, the warm wriggling body pressing Pat down onto the cushions in an absolutely perfect way. Fuck, if they want each other like this, how can they keep dancing around it? How on earth can they keep pretending they don’t? Brian’s body is hot against Pat’s like it has been for the past two hours, and he’s wonderful and enthusiastic and touching Pat so very goddamn much.

Pat can’t even remember the last time he felt this way about another person, much less the last time someone felt the same way back, and _oh_, when one of Brian’s hands slides into Pat’s hair, twists at the nape of his neck and tugs, the sound Pat makes is one he should never, ever, not in his _life_ have made in a work environment, jesus god. It’s what gets Pat to pull back and say, “Brian, we gotta. We gotta not do this here.”

Brian is panting, his eyes so wide as he tries to contain his wiggles, tries to stay still despite the fact that he’s all up on Pat. “But we can — we can do it _somewhere_, right?” he asks, his fingers curling around Pat’s hair again. Not pulling, but teasing in a way that suggests that he certainly _will_ again as soon as they get someplace private and horizontal.

“Yeah, fuck,” Pat says, breathless, “yeah, we — god. First we gotta, uh, clean up? Brian?” He doesn’t move, though; he closes his eyes and leans into the touch as Brian plays with his hair. It feels so good, even without Brian pulling it, even with just gentle fingers stroking at the back of his head. “And then I’m all yours.”

Brian giggles softly and says, “It’s cute that you think you’re not already all mine, Pat Gill,” which makes Pat’s stomach swoop in delighted anticipation. Brian’s grinning, and Pat can feel that he’s grinning back.

It’s the fastest Pat has ever packed up cables and logged out of the Polygon computers in his _life_.

God, he wants Brian so bad that the need has gone from something emotional to something physical. It _hurts_, the longing in his chest, the disbelief that this is happening in the pit of his stomach, the tingles on his lips from where Brian’s mouth has already, even after such a short time, left a hell of an impression. Pat can’t believe this is happening, yet somehow it’s been inevitable since the first moment they set eyes on each other. Like they’ve been waiting to collide into — into _this_, whatever this thing ends up being, since that first handshake.

The second they both finish their individual tasks, Brian is right at Pat’s side, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. Pat is so gone on this boy; he has no other choice but to grab Brian’s hand and use the leverage to pull Brian closer and kiss his cheek. “Is it presumptuous to ask you if you want to come back to my place?” Pat asks.

Brian plants a kiss — just one — on Pat’s lips, and says, “Baby, I think at this point, it’d be rude if you didn’t!” 

He’s radiating joy like the goddamn _sun_, and Pat wants to follow Brian when he moves away, wants to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, wants to feel what his laughter is like against his lips, thinks he might very well die on the train ride home — 

“Oh, good news: I drove!” Brian says cheerfully.

Pat sighs. “You are a _gift_.”

Brian laughs, tosses his hair, and says, “Come on, Pat Gill, our chariot awaits! And,” he adds, “I will preemptively say that we are _not_ canoodling in my car, thanks very much. I’ll wait the extra few minutes for a bed, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, canoodling, huh?”

“Among other things,” Brian says with a wicked grin. Even though he drops Pat’s hand as they leave the streaming room, he moves confidently, moves like Pat’s emitting a gravitational pull that keeps Brian coming back to bump their shoulders together. The smile stays on his face, leaving no room for doubt or fear to creep in, and he slings his arm around Pat’s waist the moment they get outside.

It’s late June, and though it was hot earlier, now there’s a nice evening breeze. Pat’s glad for it, since he’s keyed up and sweaty and could use a moment of fresh air. It’s not a long walk to the parking structure, but it’s a quiet one, both of them too nervous-excited and afraid to ruin the moment to speak. But Brian’s palm is hot against Pat’s hip, over his shirt, and even though it’s a bit awkward to walk any sort of distance like this, Pat wants — god, he _wants_.

He only gives himself a moment of nervous hesitation once they’re in the car and en route before he rests his hand on Brian’s thigh. Brian glances over at him and he’s smiling again, or maybe still. Pat rubs his thumb in soft circles over the fabric of Brian’s pants as Brian hums along to the radio, curses under his breath at traffic, shoots sidelong looks at Pat. The drive somehow takes longer than it would have had they just taken the train, but it’s so _good_ to sit together, alone, living for moments longer in the tension and anticipation that crackles between them.

They park about five blocks over from Pat’s apartment, with Brian keeping a running commentary on how shitty every single thing about driving in New York City — up to and including finding a _ding dang parking spot_ — but Pat walks quickly when he’s motivated, especially when that motivation is getting Brian David Gilbert into his apartment to kiss him properly like Pat has been dying to do for months.

Pat wants to kiss Brian the second they cross the threshold, but from the backpack dropped haphazardly on the couch and the turned-on hall light, Pat knows that his roommate is definitely home. He would be so embarrassed if Quinn walked out to see him and Brian making out in the kitchen, that is so rude, so instead he pulls Brian into a tight hug, his hands circling around Brian’s midsection to clasp around his back. They’re pressed so close, and Brian hums as he nuzzles his face into Pat’s collarbone, and Pat doesn’t want to do anything as much as he wants to keep touching Brian as much as is humanly possible. Brian gives a damn good hug. Of course he does. He rests his head against Pat’s shoulder and sighs; they stand there, holding each other, just feeling each other breathe for a long moment.

Pat doesn’t want to move away, but he knows that it will be so worth it — and he smiles so big when Brian sighs sadly as they step apart. 

They move companionably through taking off their shoes. Brian shrugs off his ill-advised denim jacket and makes a _blegh_ face at the sweat stains on his shirt. Pat laughs, and Brian pouts at him until Pat says, “It’s not even a- a big deal, dude. I had your sweaty ass all up on me for, like, two hours.”

This only makes Brian pout harder, but Pat can see the corners of his lips twitch as he struggles not to laugh. 

Pat flits around the kitchen nervously as they chat about the stream, gets them both some water and then ushers them off to his bedroom in a way that sort of makes his skin crawl with how presumptuous it is, but well. Brian had been the one who’d mentioned _canoodling_, so he seems to be doing some presuming of his own. 

Especially when Brian jams his hand into Pat’s right back pocket and squeezes his ass, causing Pat to squawk like a fucking chicken. Brian doubles over laughing when Pat gives him the best glare he can manage as he opens his bedroom door to let them both in.

The door _sncks_ shut and then it’s just them. Alone. Able to do whatever they want.

Pat doesn’t even know what to do with all this possibility. They could do literally anything, from cuddling while watching TV to. _Other things_. More-than-kissing things. And Jesus, this leaping into the unknown makes Pat feel like he’s in middle school again with sweaty palms, not sure how to talk to his crush. He’s never gone all the way with a _boy_ before. He takes a drink of his water and definitely does _not_ look at Brian a little helplessly over the rim of his glass —

“You thirsty?” Brian asks, tongue fully in cheek, eyes glinting.

Pat tries not to give Brian the satisfaction of blushing, but he knows he loses that battle. He sets the glass of water down on his desk and takes a step closer to Brian, then another, and another, and — _oh_. Then they’re chest to chest. Pat wraps his arms around Brian’s waist — so _thick_, mmf god — and gets both of his hands in _Brian’s_ back pockets.

“Can I kiss you again?” Pat asks, a low rumble right under Brian’s ear, and he grins a toothy smile at Brian’s hitched breath. Brian cups Pat’s chin in his hand and tilts his head so he can meet his eyes, sighs out a soft yes. 

And so Pat does. 

He pulls Brian’s hips against his and kisses him with all the potential energy that’s been building in his body for months, all the intensity and need that he’s wanted to share with him. Brian responds with his whole body — god, he never isn’t moving, is he? Never isn’t throwing his whole being into whatever it is he’s doing. He curls a hand around the back of Pat’s neck and kisses like he, too, is trying to pour everything into this moment.

It’s slow and lush in a way their previous kisses haven’t been, They were stolen moments before, rushed and frantic and grabby. But this is, _god_ it’s so good. Pat dips his tongue into Brian’s mouth as he presses their hips together, opens up for Brian’s tongue and lets him explore. Brian brings their lips together slowly over and over again. He’s truly a phenomenal kisser either way they’ve done this. Pat’s been bowled over by Brian in more ways than one since he’s known him, but good Lord, If he’d known that Brian had put the time and effort into learning how to kiss like he had learning how to sing, to play the ukelele, to do any of the thousand other things he blows everyone away with, Pat wouldn’t have been able to hold out for as long as he had.

Pat groans, deep and low in his chest, when Brian’s pointed tongue darts ticklish and electric across Pat’s lower lip. Brian pulls away and huffs a laugh, takes a breath with his left cheek pressed to Pat’s right one. “Gosh, that was a good noise,” Brian says.

Pat is breathing hard, but he gives a little exhale of a laugh too, and says, “That was a good kiss.”

Brian hums happily and twists to kiss the side of Pat’s neck. “What d’you want to get up to, gorgeous?” Brian says. “I’m all yours.”

“I thought you said I was yours,” Pat teases.

Brian snickers. “We can be each other’s! Tell me what you want — _what you really really want_,” he sings, and Pat groans, and Brian is grinning when he snags Pat by the wrist and tugs him towards the bed. 

Pat lets himself be led and flops down onto the comforter. When Brian crawls on top of him, Pat wraps his arms, grabs at Brian’s back, as soon as they’re in the proximity for such a thing. Brian arches into the touch but wiggles his eyebrows at Pat, and Pat laughs and tucks his face under Brian’s chin.

Pat’s the worst at this part, the immediately-pre-sex part. It’s difficult to find the right words, to make the right requests without obfuscating his desires _and_ without scaring someone off for being too much too soon. How does he strike the balance between being too cold and too needy? How does he say, _I want you inside me_, without getting laughed at? How does he say, _I want you to take me apart_, when he doesn’t know what that means other than a desire for Brian to see every inch of him and declare it something worth seeing. So he holds Brian tight, tries to find the magic words to voice all of that in one normal, regular-ass sentence. 

(How does Pat say what he wants, when what he wants is _everything?_ When what he wants is Brian, full stop — wants to see him and hear him and taste him and touch him and take him?)

What Pat ends up with is, “Can we, um. Just check in as we go? Nothing’s — nothing’s hypothetically off the table, but it’s hard to flip to the right page in a choose-your-own-adventure book when we haven’t even read the summary on the back cover.”

Brian laughs, a wild, startled thing. “You are such a nerd,” he says, and rolls the both of them over so Brian’s propped up over him. “Is this okay?” he asks, nuzzling his nose into Pat’s neck. 

Pat’s neck is so sensitive — _Brian knows that he’s sensitive there, fuck_ — that Pat’s breath whooshes out of him as he wraps his arms around Brian’s chest and back. “It’s very okay,” Pat says as he draws their mouths back together, straining his neck up to reach Brian, to get as close as he possibly can. He could absolutely, definitely, totally kiss Brian all night, it’s official, but he wants more than that. As he runs his hands over Brian’s back, his fingers skate over an inch of bare skin where Brian’s shirt has ridden up, and Pat moves them away, cautious.

“It’s okay, you can touch,” Brian says — and, permission granted, Pat pushes both hands up the back of Brian’s shirt, greedily touching smooth skin. Brian sighs into the kiss before returning to his journey down Pat’s neck. The gentle pressure makes Pat draw a sharp breath and tilt his head back so Brian can lave him with kisses and licks and occasional bites that draw soft, wanting sounds from Pat’s throat. This, too, he could do forever. He thinks he could do anything forever, so long as it involves touching Brian.

“Mm,” Brian murmurs against Pat’s throat, “how do you feel about being marked up?” 

“Very good,” Pat replies, with enough enthusiasm that he definitely shows his whole ass. “‘Cept I gotta go to work tomorrow, so keep it tasteful.” 

Brian snickers and tugs the collar of Pat’s shirt out of the way, undoes the top few buttons for good measure. “Okay, like, this is not sexy at all,” he says, “but my shirt is really gross and sweaty and, like, cold, do you mind if I take it off?” It comes out in a rush, like Brian didn’t really want to say it — or at least not like _that_ — but like he’d lost the battle with himself and caved from discomfort.

Pat laughs and lets go of him. “You really think I mind if you take your shirt off? Hell, Brian, go for it.”

Brian smiles, that crooked almost-shy smile, and sits back to pull his shirt off. Pat is immediately seized with the urge to bury his face against Brian’s chest, to rub his cheek against his belly, to kiss every inch of his skin.

“You’re fucking perfect, what the hell,” Pat says, and Brian barks out an almost-startled, pleased laugh.

“Could say the same about you, Pat Gill!”

“I’m wearing too many clothes for you to make that judgment properly,” Pat says. He has a glaringly obvious ulterior motive, but Brian takes the bait and goes for the buttons of Pat’s shirt.

Brian runs his hands over Pat’s chest, under his now-undone shirt, and if he feels raised scars beneath his fingertips he doesn’t say a thing. Maybe (hopefully) he just files it away politely and adjusts his expectations accordingly. In the best of all possible worlds, Pat wouldn’t even need to say a word —

“You good?” Brian murmurs.

“Mmhmm,” Pat says, and steals another kiss. He can’t stop touching Brian once Brian gets his shirt off the rest of the way and they’re naked chest to naked chest. Brian’s _hairy_. It’s such a delightful surprise, all that soft fuzz on his chest — not as thick as what’s on his thighs, and Pat can’t believe he knows what the hair on Brian’s thighs looks like before he’s even removed Brian’s pants — and the softness is so good against Pat’s skin. He wishes his nipples were still as sensitive as they once were, because god, he bets they’d feel amazing rubbing against Brian’s chest. Though, to be honest, it still feels pretty damn amazing.

“How are you so hot?” Pat asks, a wet gasp, as he kisses and kisses and kisses Brian again, barely letting an inch between them, the air thick and humid.

“No you,” Brian retorts. He licks into Pat’s mouth as one hand trails over Pat’s hips, his belly, examining him with his fingertips — the trail of hair beneath his bellybutton, the two tiny scars on either side of his navel, the outline of the base of his ribs — before he splays out his whole hand across Pat’s stomach in a lovely-warm press.

The only thing keeping Pat from saying all the dumb shit that crosses his mind the second he realizes Brian’s, like, _cool_ is the fact that Brian’s mouth is sealed over his in a kiss that’ll hopefully bruise Pat’s lower lip. Pat doesn’t have to hide, and it’s so wonderful, and he’s so glad that he’s kissing Brian so he doesn’t say anything that would murder the mood. But they all run through his brain in rapid succession; “_Ohmygod_ do you wanna see the other scars from that surgery one’s in my bellybutton isn’t that fuckin’ gnarly,” and “I love how your hand feels on me like that, not even in a sexy way, I just want to be touched,” and “God, the last time I had sex with someone I still had boobs.”

What he does say when Brian catches his breath against the heated skin of Pat’s cheek is, “This is so nice,” and then almost appends that with a _thank you_. Pat doesn’t — why would — god, he doesn’t need to _thank_ people for touching him. It’s just. He’s been so fucking lonely and Brian’s like a brand of fire against him, lovely and warm and sweet and tender and perfect, and Pat wants him so bad, and he cannot believe that this is happening right now. But Pat’s so glad that it is.

“Yeah,” Brian says, smiles. Kisses Pat’s jaw. “Gosh, Patrick. You’re — jeez. Gorgeous.” He thumbs at the hard points of Pat’s hipbones. “I’m more than happy doing whatever you want to do. Is — is sex on the table tonight?”

“I think it’s on the bed, actually,” Pat says, laughing at his own goddamn joke while Brian groans and drops his head against Pat’s chest. “But, uh, yeah. Like I said, we can — I’m into it. If you are?”

It occurs to Pat that he doesn’t know if Brian’s ever had a trans partner (but signs seem to point to maybe, since he’s so unruffled) or if he’s had a partner who’s got what Pat’s packing (who even knows, Pat doesn’t know anything more than a name about a single ex of Brian’s, and that tells him precisely nothing). Brian seems pretty confident about sex as a general concept which shouldn’t be enough to get Pat’s engines revving, but god help him it is. So maybe the stars really _have_ aligned for Pat, and maybe he really _is_ going to fuck Brian David Gilbert tonight.

It certainly seems like it as Brian deftly undoes the button of Pat’s pants and pulls down the zip with one hand, not breaking the kiss as he does it, nor when as he slides his palm between Pat’s jeans and his boxer briefs. It’s a perfect caress, Brian’s hand warm against where Pat’s aching and probably already so wet, god.

And now there’s — even if Brian had somehow been slow on the uptake before, there’s no denying what Pat’s got in his pants, but Brian doesn’t falter or hesitate in the slightest. He just presses the heel of his hand _in_, lets his fingers slide over Pat’s underwear so they drag up the length of him.

“Brian,” Pat whines, “. . . _Brian_.”

Brian hums, happy, and smiles against the skin of Pat’s neck. “Heavens, that sounds nice,” he says, his tongue flicking out to taste Pat’s skin. “It’s time to pick a page in that book now, sweetheart. What do you want?”

He almost blurts _anything_, or _everything_, but he shoves that back down because it’s not helpful and also? Not accurate. He does in fact have limits, but fuck, he hasn’t had this conversation in eons either. As it turns out, he’s no less stuttery-shy about it than he ever has been. Some things never change, apparently. Of all the things to stay consistent.

Pat looks up at the ceiling instead of at Brian’s face, because he adores Brian but good god does Brian look straight into a person’s fucking _soul_ when he makes eye contact. Pat’s already skittish enough about sex and also about eye contact. Between all that it’s a miracle he’s ever gotten laid. Aaaaand, he nips that thought train in the bud, because he’s stalling. Digressing.

He’d talked himself out of being too horny on main before, but Brian’s slow kisses at Pat’s neck are doing a fine job of loosening his tongue as they tighten a fist of want in Pat’s belly. Brian’s patient, the kisses easing up as he waits for Pat to give him a direction, but his hand still rests over Pat’s hip like a brand. The points of contact between them apply the metaphorical pressure Pat needs to spit it out, and he clenches his eyes shut when he gasps, “Fuck, Brian, I want you inside me.”

Brian doesn’t laugh. Of _course_ he doesn’t laugh. He makes a low, soft sound and rocks his hand between Pat’s legs. Says, “Yeah, baby? What part of me?”

Pat groans and rolls his hips. “Can’t you _yes-and_ me this time?” he grumbles, glaring at Brian, though there’s no heat behind it when Brian’s heel gets him _good_. “Tell me what you want. I want this to- to be fun for both of us.”

Brian’s neck kisses turn into bites, little sharp-toothed things that aren’t gonna leave marks, but damn does Pat wish they could. “Trust me,” Brian says, and his voice is low and soft and settles deep in Pat’s pelvis, “if you’re having fun, I’m definitely having fun.”

Brian slides his hand up so that his index and middle finger are resting right over Pat’s cock, over his boxer briefs. He’s maybe about to ask if he can, but Pat says, “yeah, please,” before Brian even opens his mouth. Then Brian’s pressing down, angling, rubbing his fingers just right, and it’s — it’s been so _long_ since someone else has touched him like this, since someone else’s hands felt confident and sure on his body. He grinds his hips into Brian’s palm, Pat’s own hands sliding down to Brian’s lower back, his fingertips dipping underneath Brian’s waistband.

“What are your thoughts on talking?” Brian asks, rolling Pat’s cock under his fingers — god, going on T may have given him some weird back acne, but it’s definitely done _incredible_ things for his dick. Win some, lose some. He’s so hard, wet and aching for Brian everywhere, his hips rolling and bucking into the pressure.

“Love hearing you talk,” Pat says, having to catch his own breath. “Dirty talk is very good. Stick to, uh, more masculine-coded words and you should be g-golden.”

“Groovy,” Brian says, and he spreads his fingers apart, slides them up and down so he’s — oh god. So he’s jacking Pat’s cock through his boxer briefs.

Pat groans and closes his eyes to devote all of his attention to the warm press of Brian’s hand. He doesn’t even do this himself very often due to some lingering fear of being caught, or maybe lingering shame at the way he’s still trying to navigate around occasional things that make him feel weird. It’s just. He likes it better when he doesn’t have to touch himself, doesn’t have to work out the logistics or make his dumb hands stop shaking when he’s too turned on. The point is, the point is that as Brian’s doing this, Pat realizes it’s been way too long since he did anything for the express purpose of feeling good, and it’s almost like he doesn’t know how to react to it; he’s twitchy, making whiny, needy sounds as Brian works his hand on him.

“Feel good, baby?” Brian says somewhere in the vicinity of Pat’s ear, close enough that his breath against Pat’s skin makes him shiver as he stutters out, _yes_. “Good. Good, I’m glad. I heard a- a _rumor_ that you want me inside you,” he teases, his voice lilting. “You want my fingers? Want me to open you up for my cock?”

“Fuck,” Pat gasps, goosebumps prickling down his body like a rolling wave that goes from his scalp to his toes. “Oh _please_.” He lifts his hips so Brian can work his pants and underwear off, discard them god-knows-where on the floor. Pat’s not thinking about where they land because he’s naked in front of Brian and his legs are open and Brian’s certainly got an eyeful of him, and it suddenly hits Pat all at once that he should be nervous, and _whoops_ — once that thought crosses his mind he _is_ nervous, oh no.

Brian must see some of this because he sits back a little, strokes Pat’s inner thighs just above his knees, and fixes his gaze on Pat’s face. “You’re perfect,” Brian says, resting his chin against Pat’s bent knee, “and I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. Okay?”

“Okay,” Pat says, exhaling loudly to get the jitters out.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

Pat nods, licks his lips, watches Brian’s face. “It’s, uh,” Pat trails off, exhales again, again. “The first time I’ve been with someone who didn’t know me, uh. Before.”

Pat doesn’t know how to put a name to the emotions that skitter across Brian’s face — surprise, yeah, and maybe confusion or worry, but something much gentler, too.

“I promise I’ll take good care of you,” Brian says, tracing little circles with his fingertips on Pat’s thigh.

“I trust you,” Pat says back. Brian’s smile is so soft. Sweet. Kind.

“What would you like me to do, Patrick?” Brian asks. “I could use my hands, or- or blow you, or. Y’know, whatever you like.”

Pat hadn’t thought about what Brian’s mouth would feel like on him, and he blinks like that GIF of Drew when his brain goes offline. A rush of heat shoots through him at the idea. It’s a lot of decisions to make all at once.

“I want you to kiss me more,” Pat decides, “so c’mere. You can touch me. And, uh, it might — I might feel better if I wasn’t the only naked one here, if it’s all the same to you?”

Brian smiles. “You got it, babe.”

Brian gets his chinos and briefs off in one smooth motion. Maybe later there will be time for a striptease, but right now it’s all about speed. Pat’s staring wide-eyed at Brian’s whole everything when Brian stands up after bending over to slip his feet out of the leg holes of his underwear.

Brian flushes under Pat’s gaze. Even though Brian’s so far projected nothing but confidence, he straightens his back and tries not to curl in on himself, nervous. But Pat is _hungry_, now that he’s looking. He was full of want before but wow there’s so much skin available to touch and lick and get his body all over.

And. Brian’s dick.

Pat hasn’t had sex with anyone whose dick wasn’t detachable and dishwasher-safe, but good _Christ_, Brian looks so good. His dick curves up towards his belly button, so hard — _for Pat_, and, whoa that’s a hot train of thought — and uncut, with just the perfect amount of fluff nestled at the base. There’s a mouthwatering happy trail leading down down down from Brian’s navel, and Pat wants to follow that trail anywhere it’ll lead him.

His thoughts are definitely written across his face, because Brian smirks and brushes Pat’s hair out of his eyes. “Yeah?” Brian asks.

“_Hell_ yeah,” Pat confirms, making grabby hands to coax Brian back onto the bed again.

He drags Brian into a kiss the moment they’re both back on the bed together, runs his hands all over Brian, more than eager to touch him everywhere. With shy fingertips, curious but cautious, Pat traces along Brian’s dick. He’s rewarded when Brian sucks in a sharp breath, his thigh muscle jumping.

“You can touch, no need to be shy,” Brian says softly, so Pat does, meticulous and delicate until he finally wraps his hand around Brian’s dick. Brian makes a choked sound as Pat gives a few experimental pumps. He drops his head to Pat’s shoulder and moans, hips twitching into Pat’s grip.

Pat pulls at Brian’s back until they’re pressed flush together, touching absolutely everywhere during those promised kisses. Brian’s dick gets trapped between their bodies and he is doing a very respectable job of not grinding against Pat (though he could certainly be grinding _more_). Pat gets the sense that Brian wants to draw this out as long as he possibly can, and Pat’s glad, because so does he.

“You can touch me too, y’know,” Pat says, his breath hitching as Brian weakly kisses at Pat’s scruff. “Definitely haven’t rescinded that. Still- still a standing offer.”

“Good to know,” Brian mumbles. His hand traces slowly, deliberately over Pat’s jaw, his neck, and chest, and ribs, and hip, and thigh, moving with the same methodical, explorative touch of Pat’s ventures. Brian maps Pat’s body like a dedicated cartographer. He rubs little circles high on the inside of Pat’s thigh, either teasing or waiting for another confirmation, or both.

Whichever it is, Brian either finishes teasing or receives confirmation he needs, because his thumb drags inward, and then farther, and then Pat jerks up off the bed when Brian’s hand touches his dick for the first time. Pat lets go of Brian’s dick when he yelps and buries his face in Brian’s neck.

Brian moves his hand away immediately and stills the other movements of his body. “You okay?” he asks. Tentatively, he brings one hand to pet over Pat’s hair, tuck a sweaty strand behind Pat’s ear

“Yeah,” Pat breathes, “s’good. Really good. Just haven’t, hah, haven’t felt that in a while. Or ever, maybe.”

Pat’s not sure if it’s due to changes from T, or maybe because of how turned on he is, or if it’s just Brian, but good god that was so much. His thighs tremble, shaking with wanting it to happen again. “You can,” he says, catching Brian’s fond look with one he’s sure is equally fond. “You can touch me again. I — now that I know it’s coming, I should be okay. I want you pretty, uh.” Pat laughs. “Pretty fucking bad, if you couldn’t tell.”

Brian looks at him with such affection, such tenderness, and kisses Pat quick and soft before his fingers circle back for another try. He strokes Pat’s dick with light touches, getting Pat used to the pressure and feel of Brian’s hand directly skin-on-skin. Pat’s breathing stutters and he pushes his face hard against Brian’s neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He tries to be an active participant even as he’s cataloging all these new sensations — or maybe just old sensations recontextualized. The only frame of reference, the only constant, is Brian. Brian, whose whole body presses against him and who wants Pat as badly as Pat wants him. The movements of Brian’s hand are fucking surreal and, weirdly, brand new for someone who had literally been married for years — and wow, Pat is not gonna follow that train of thought when Brian’s hand is on his dick — 

Brian dips a fingertip inside him and Pat’s thoughts evaporate into glittering dust. Pat rocks his hips up because _holyshityes_, he wants this, he wants all this and _more_.

Brian hums and pushes in deeper, keeps his thumb stroking at Pat’s dick. “Yeah?” Brian asks when Pat makes a choked-off whine.

“Yes,” Pat gasps. He grips Brian tight around the waist, not wanting to move apart even a little.

“How do you sound so _good?”_ Brian asks, rushed out on an exhale as he slowly, tenderly circles Pat’s dick. The slide is so wet — Pat’s been turned on for _ages_ — and it’s the perfect amount of pressure and oh, if Brian’s got him dead to rights this early, Pat’s not — he’s not gonna make it very long.

“How are you fucking me so good?” Pat retorts, his hands sliding up to rest shaky-sure on Brian’s lower back. “It’s — you should add another finger.”

Brian smirks; Pat can feel it against his neck when Brian leans forward to lick up under his jaw. “Oh, I _should_, should I?”

Pat huffs, which is quickly re-inhaled as a gasp when Brian does add a second finger and Pat fucks up into the pressure and the fullness. “Don’t make — I’m gonna be begging for you in, like, five seconds, okay,” he says, laughing at himself. “Cut me s- some slack.”

“_I’m not bossy, I’m the boss_,” Brian quotes, and Pat huffs at him again and drags Brian into another warm kiss.

Pat’s smug at getting what he wanted for all of two seconds before Brian curls his fingers and drags a stuttery breathy moan out of Pat. “Oh, _fuck_,” Pat growls against his lips.

“You said something about begging?” Brian asks, silky-sweet, and Pat groans and tries to kiss Brian again. It seems Brian has stolen all of Pat’s smugness, the bastard, and he’s too busy grinning to be kissed. What a dork. How come Pat likes him so bad.

“Might’ve,” Pat says, “but I won’t without — oh jesus god, _Brian_.”

Brian laughs and kisses all over Pat’s face. Pat’s instinctive reaction is to curl himself toward Brian, push his hands into Brian’s hair and touch their foreheads together. Pat likes this so much, likes Brian so _much_, but the most overpowering feeling is how goddamn good everything feels. Brian presses forward to kiss him and does — _something_ — with the fingers he has inside Pat that makes Pat whine, arch up towards Brian, and gasp out, “please, Brian, _oh_ —”

“What do you want, baby?” Brian croons, plying open Pat’s mouth with more soft, coaxing kisses.

Pat can’t think, he can’t _think_ with how full he is of Brian, just, everywhere — Brian’s fingers inside him, yes, but also the smell of Brian’s sweat and aftershave and shampoo in his nose, the tang of Brian’s skin under his tongue, the ache in his body from getting everything he’s ever wanted all at once.

“I wanna come,” Pat whines. He slides his hands to Brian’s front, down his thighs, so Brian can sit up on his knees and, _yes, fuck_, get his fingers even deeper, put some _oomph_ behind the thrusts to really make Pat feel it. “I — you’re gonna make me come.”

“_Yeah_ I am,” Brian says, exhilarated and enthused. A curl of his hair comes undone from its hold and flops forward into his eyes. “And I can’t wait to see it.”

Pat scrunches his eyes closed. He’s _close_, that wasn’t a lie, it’s just a bit out of reach like he needs to stretch his fingertips and it’ll be _right there_. Right at the end of Brian’s questing, hungry mouth and his perfect fingers and his thumb still stroking Pat’s dick, and it’s all so much that Pat — 

He comes.

Pat clings to Brian, needing something — needing _Brian_ — to ground him as he’s swept up in sensation, in a wave of _so good it almost hurts_. Pat makes soft little sounds as Brian works him through the aftershocks. As Pat moves closer, curls a hand around the back of Brian’s neck, he presses their cheeks together and lets himself breathe. Brian’s still — god — he’s still touching him. There’s no intent, just gentle fingertips stroking around Pat’s entrance. It’s _good_, not urgent, not too much, just tender sweet gentle sensation. Touch with no purpose other than to feel nice.

Pat lingers in the moment as long as he possibly can. He presses his forehead against Brian’s shoulder again, and he’s grateful for Brian’s patience as he takes it all in. But at some point Brian’s gentle fingers on the inside of his thighs, around his dick, stoke a fire in Pat’s core again.

“Baby,” Pat sighs, and Brian hums. He turns his head to kiss Pat’s head.

“How are you doing?”

“Real good,” Pat says, exhilarated. “This is — I’m — you’re — thank you.”

Brian chuckles. “No no no, thank _you_, Pat Gill. Are you done, or do you want more?”

“Oh — definitely more,” Pat says immediately, no question. He lifts his head to grin at Brian, who’s happy and mischievous and pleased all at once. “I mean, I sure as hell want to touch you, too.”

“Oh good,” Brian says, nuzzling against Pat’s collarbone. “I mean, there was no right answer, but. That was the right answer.”

Pat laughs, giddy, maybe a little come-dumb still but sue him — he can’t remember the last time his body sparked like this, and he wants to keep the static electricity going. “What do _you_ want, babe? I know you’ve been thinking about somethin’ since I hoisted you over my back.”

Brian whacks him in the chest, but quickly soothes over the affected area with a kiss. “I have _not_.”

“You have so,” Pat teases — _teases!_ He can tease Brian now and it’s with _intent_, he’s seen Brian’s dick and Brian has seen his dick and they’re both still doing this, and oh, he’s been quiet for too long. “I heard you whimpering in my ear, even if the mics didn’t pick it up.”

“That’s not —” Brian protests. “I wasn’t — okay, fine, yes, I was very turned on by how strong you are.” He grumbles and rolls off of Pat so they’re lying side to side, face to face, Pat’s nose brushing up against Brian’s cheek. “And stop preening, it’s not becoming of y — and I can _see you laughing Patrick, do_ not _make the obvious joke_.”

“I didn’t say a word!” Pat says. Brian’s rolling his eyes, yes, but also laughing and getting his arms around Pat’s waist for a hug-cuddle. Pat can’t speak for Brian but he’s just so pleased. He doesn’t feel harried or nerve-wracked at all to budge his knee between Brian’s legs and start moving his hand toward Brian’s dick with obvious intent.

There is a part of Pat that’s way too happy to be, like, actually strong enough to heft Brian around like he did on stream. He may be absolute garbage at working out regularly, but he retains muscle like no one’s business. It is very satisfying on a gender euphoria level, thanks very much.

But he doesn’t comment on that bit. There’s other things on his mind. Like, for example, the quiet, almost involuntary sound that Brian makes when Pat takes his dick in hand. Their pace had mellowed out for a good few minutes there, so Brian’s not in the same state of worked-up that he was before. However, Pat gets the impression from the way Brian’s chewing on his lip and trying not to wriggle around that that’s not likely to remain the case for long.

Pat gives a little stutter step of a self-effacing laugh, to which Brian goes _hm?_ and gently headbutts the side of Pat’s face. Pat has no idea how exactly to put words to what he’s feeling without absolutely wrecking the mood — _I can’t believe I’m here with you, I can’t believe that after twenty-five years I’m finally living in a way that feels authentic to myself and I’m so, so fucking happy and a little overwhelmed? And,_

“I’ve never seen a real live dick in person before tonight,” is what Pat says, which is absolutely the worst of all the mood-killing things he could have said.

Brian doubles over, cackling. “A _real live_ — oh my god — like it’s some sort of _creature_ —”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Pat grumbles, all bark and no bite. He may not have seen one in person before, but he _has_ watched a fair amount of porn in his day, so he knows exactly how to make Brian shut up: Pat twists his hand around the head of Brian’s cock, focusing there as he works Brian back to full hardness.

“Could h- have fooled me,” Brian says, fighting to keep his eyes open and locked on Pat’s face. _Wow_. “You’re — fuck, that’s good.”

Pat preens and presses his body closer to Brian’s, which crowds Brian’s dick and Pat’s hand between their bellies in a way that will be uncomfortable pretty shortly, but for the time being it’s perfect. Pat can kiss Brian easily at this angle while he strokes him off, can hear all the choked-off noises Brian makes into his mouth, like Brian can’t help it, like he’s helpless for the way Pat touches him. 

“I think I’m ready for round two,” Pat says, kissing at the corner of Brian’s mouth. “If you still uh. Want that.”

“Oh _gosh_,” says Brian, eyes wide, which is charming as all hell. “I — yes, okay, wow, I didn’t know if you’d — _yes_.”

Pat’s thrilled to get Brian stuttering. Even more thrilled to press forward against Brian, abandoning his hand’s current occupation to brace himself on Brian’s thighs. Brian gives a whimper of protest, but it dies off quickly when Pat kisses Brian with everything he’s got. His mind wanders a bit with the hard press of their mouths — he’s probably about as worked up as he’s going to get, which is annoying. Like ugh, T has done wonders for his dick but he doesn’t stay wet for as long as he used to, which means he’s gonna have to track down the lube. And if it’s not in the drawer that Pat thinks it’s in, he’s gonna go on a wild goose chase which will be so embarrassing. Pat makes a grouchy sound as the thought occurs to him, and Brian chases his lips with a truly spectacular pout when Pat moves away.

“Hold your dang horses,” Pat says, “I’m coming right back.”

Thankfully, the lube is right where he thought it would be in the bottom nightstand drawer. Pat could kiss his past self for the half-empty bottle he finds tucked behind his personal collection of exactly one vibrator and two dildos. No scavenger hunts needed tonight. Brian watches Pat’s movements, not even watching what he’s shuffling for, but unabashedly checking out Pat’s ass.

“Like what you see?” Pat teases.

“_Yeah_,” Brian says, emphatic enough to make Pat’s face heat up. Following that there is some discussing and fussing and fumbling, and then Brian’s kissing Pat again, his arms draped over Pat’s shoulders as they sit face-to-face. Brian’s kneeling, which means he’s looming over Pat, which is. Very good.

Pat splays his hands across Brian’s back and revels in the give-and-take of kissing him. Brian is enthusiastic but thorough, teasing out what Pat likes by chasing his reactions; Pat holds him tight and does his level best to give back in kind, trading hot humid breaths between their hungry mouths.

Pobody’s nerfect, and Brian overbalances as he shifts their positioning. He catches himself against Pat, both of them laughing. Pat takes the opportunity to kiss Brian everywhere he can reach, his face and neck and shoulders. Brian, in turn, makes a show of reaching around Pat, getting all up in his space, pulling faces at him to make both of them giggle. Finally, they manage to arrange themselves satisfactorily, with Brian between Pat’s legs kissing him slow and sweet. It’s barely moments before their hands wander again. Pat finds himself more confident touching Brian’s cock this time, getting Brian to make sweet sounds against his mouth. He sighs and leans into the sensations as Brian teases at Pat’s entrance, working him up again so that he’s, god, so that he’s ready to take Brian’s cock.

Brian’s fingers feel so soft and smooth and perfect, as the addition of lube makes the slide that much easier when two fingers push back inside Pat’s body again. Pat’s hand stutters and flexes open on Brian’s dick, shaking as he gets his bearings. He rolls his hips and shifts to help Brian’s questing fingers. But Pat can’t stay away for long — at this point, there’s not much he wouldn’t do to keep Brian softly panting and whining over him. 

Brian sits up on his knees to get the angle just right, which is unfortunate because it means no more kissing. It is, however, also _very fortunate_, because Brian does, in fact, get the angle just right. Pat takes the arm that’s not busy elsewhere and flings it over his eyes. His hips roll into the motion — _fucking himself on Brian’s fingers_, he’d say, if he had two brain cells to rub together to dirty talk at Brian — and Pat laughs, delighted at how Brian keeps up the slow and steady motion.

“You are _so_ gorgeous,” Brian says warmly. His free hand trails up and down Pat’s inner thighs, a little ticklish but Pat wouldn’t trade it for anything. “God, just absolutely wanna eat you up.”

“Not,” Pat grunts as Brian rocks his fingers a little harder inside him, “into vore.”

Brian laughs and twists his fingers, which causes Pat to swear and kick out his feet on the bed. “I’ll add that to the _no_ column, then, but is a third finger firmly in the yes column?”

“_Yes_,” Pat breathes. Within the space of one breath to the next, Brian’s pulled his hand back and then tucked a third finger alongside the other two. _Whoo_, it’s a stretch. It’s been so long since Pat’s bothered to get this far, and Brian’s fingers have those stupid musician’s callouses that Pat’s mom’s romance novels had always talked about, and now Pat _gets it_.

Pat finally finds the strength to move his arm off of his eyes, and he’s rewarded for his bravery with the site of Brian absolutely, wonderfully transfixed at the sight of his fingers fucking into Pat. He’d thought — well, he’d nightmared — that he’d feel uncomfortable if someone paid that much attention to his junk. Treating him like a- a freak show or a science project or something. But Brian’s face is so — awed. Blissed out. He looks like if Pat asked what he was thinking, Brian would thank Pat for the opportunity to touch him like this. And so far, Pat’s fantasy Brian has been pretty close to the real deal.

“Brian, you should fuck me,” Pat says, and it’s maybe (definitely) the most straightforward he’s been all night, but the fear of being rejected has trickled off his body like water after a summer rain. Which means he’s left with only the overwhelming desire to watch Brian David Gilbert fall apart.

Brian looks delighted at the idea, which is cute as hell, and Pat simply has to lean up and steal a kiss. Brian’s fingers slip out of him when he shifts on the bed, and Pat makes a soft involuntary sound at the sudden emptiness. But Brian smiles against his lips and kisses Pat once more before he moves into position.

There is a moment where the two of them are just looking at each other, taking each other in. Brian is endlessly fucking beautiful, with his earnest face and solid dancer’s body and graceful hands and the curve of his hard cock and — 

His gentle hands guide his perfect cock to press against Pat’s entrance; Pat watches, craning his neck forward, transfixed, as Brian slides home into him — _fuck, oh fuck, Brian_ — 

It’s not like Pat’s never gotten fucked before, not like he’s never had something inside him, but it’s — this — it’s _Brian_, and it’s been so long, and never like this — not with Brian’s hands on him, with Brian’s quick breaths right there by his face. And o-_kay_, Pat whines and Brian’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and back open to look right at Pat, those wide hazel eyes locked dead on his. Pat can’t handle that fuckin’ soul-searching eye contact with Brian _holyshit_ inside him like this, and he’s still moving, this absolutely glacial slide into Pat that must take more self control than Pat has ever claimed to have in his whole life. Even still, Pat can’t look away, caught in Brian’s gaze, this moment where the world has condensed down to the two of them and nothing else could possibly matter.

“You good?” Brian asks, his hands bracketing Pat’s head close enough that Pat can turn his jaw and kiss the soft underbelly of Brian’s arm.

Pat grunts. “Never better.” He tries rolling his hips, just once, and then there’s no trying after that, he just _does it_ because holy shit it feels so good, _Brian, it’s so — ah, so good_.

Brian rests their foreheads together, sweat-damp skin to sweat-damp skin, the press of Brian’s body fully along Pat’s with so many points of contact for Pat to catalogue and cherish and love. “Baby, I’m —” Brian breaks off, kisses at Pat’s brow as he pulls back then fucks his hips in again. “_Oh_ gosh, I’m not going to last very long, I don’t. I don’t think.”

Pat hooks his left leg up and around Brian’s body so his heel presses into the small of Brian’s back. The openness of his hips, the tilt of his pelvis, means Brian slides even _deeper_ on his next thrust, and Pat swears and scratches at Brian’s shoulder hard enough to raise marks. He reaches down to stroke his dick while Brian fucks him, and the added stimulation immediately makes him clench _hard_ and purposeful. God, he could take Brian’s cock inside him for hours — learn all the delicious ways Brian could make him moan, that they could fit together, that he could keep Brian hot and hard and wanting with just a roll of his hips and the warmth of his body. 

“Do it,” Pat says, jacking the length of his dick between his thumb and middle finger. “C- come inside me, Brian. Wanna feel you.”

Brian curses, dips his head to kiss at, bite at Pat’s neck and jaw, sloppy and wet and desperate, no finesse, just to have his mouth on Patrick. He’s been astonishingly composed up to this point, and Pat loves that, but he loves this even _more_, loves to have Brian panting hot against the side of his neck and making such delicious sounds.

Brian’s a musician, Brian’s a dancer, Brian has rhythm in his bones pulsing through his veins and he’s on the whole a graceful motherfucker even if occasionally clumsy. It is — _fuck_ — it is remarkable to bring him down to Pat’s level where they’re on even footing. Sure, Brian might be leading this dance but Pat can keep up, Pat can follow and match him step for step, backwards and in — well, not in high heels, let’s not take that path, but backwards into new territory, definitely.

All this to say, it’s satisfying as _hell_ to strip him of his layers of performance as his hips stutter and he’s reduced to just moaning and oh _god_ gasping out Pat’s name like a prayer.

“C’mon,” Pat grits out, bound and determined to say something to Brian that makes him feel as good as Brian’s made him feel this whole time: “C’mon, baby, please, you’re so good, feel so good in- inside me. You can, _fuck_, whenever you’re ready please — _godgodgod Brian_ I want you to f — I want — I want your — I want you to come in me, _please_.” His voice is ragged, and between all the stammering none of that was quite what he meant to say — 

though _I want you to fill me with your come_ is maybe not the, not the right line for a first — 

Brian moans and thrusts deep into Pat, and a shudder goes through his whole body as he does just exactly what Pat asked of him, coming with Pat’s name on his lips, with Pat’s hand in his hair and his leg anchored around Brian to hold him right there where he wants him as he furiously rubs at his own cock. Pat clenches around the fucking _perfect_ feeling of fullness with Brian inside him, chasing down his second climax of the evening, sparks of it already racing to his fingertips. Then, Brian draws a deep, steadying breath against the post-orgasm shaky breathlessness, pressed right up against Pat, and reaches between them. Brian pulls out so very slowly, Pat whining with the emptiness until Brian peppers his jaw with soft kisses and works two fingers back inside him. Pat’s hips rock, chasing the orgasm that’s fast approaching from how his and Brian’s fingers are working him over. 

“I can feel where I came in you,” Brian says, breathless. He twists his fingers, and Pat can feel some of the come leaking out until _Brian pushes it back in oh dear god_. “Pat, you’re so — are you close? 

“_Uh-huh_,” and it’s a soft, pitiful noise that comes out of his mouth, but Brian responds by jerking his hips into Pat’s thigh as though wishing that _he_ could come a second time. Pat is so sweaty, his hand slipping on his cock, his back arching into Brian’s touch, and he needs to come, like, yesterday — or at least preferably while he still has the ache of Brian inside him, reignited each time Brian pumps his fingers. “You, that felt so. Loved it so much,” Pat breathes, closing his eyes.

“Me too,” Brian says, and Pat doesn’t need to see it to know that Brian is smiling a warm smile, the one that Pat secretly thinks is just for him. “Wanna find all the ways to make you come, gorgeous,” Brian adds, sounding a bit more lucid now that he’s sated and working Pat over like a professional. “Want you to hold me down with your strong thighs and sit on my face. _Really_ wanna suck you off until you shiver and come into my mouth. And now that I know how it feels to have your legs wrapped around me, climbing all over me, I never want you to _stop_.”

“Oh my god _please_,” Pat gasps. “You — you can — _fuck_ — if you want to you can do that — ohgod _Brian_ — “

Brian moves quickly, drops down to the mattress like a puppet with the strings cut, and nudges Pat’s hand away to get his mouth on him. The sound Pat makes when Brian drags his tongue over Pat’s cock is loud and high-pitched and desperate, and Brian moans against him in response. Pat’s hips twitch, and Brian slides his free hand flat-palmed up the inside of Pat’s thigh to hold his legs open and keep Pat from bucking up too hard. He shrugs Pat’s leg up onto his shoulder and then Brian has him _so_ open and at his mercy.

Pat doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that he’s not jerking himself off; they wind up in his own hair for something to grab at without interfering with Brian. He’s making helpless sounds with every breath that feel dragged out of his body by Brian’s clever tongue and fingers. When Pat can finally pry his eyes open to watch Brian between his thighs, the sight of him calls forth another ragged moan. Brian’s hair is rumpled and sweaty, his face flushed and wet with sweat and — _good Lord_ — and his eyes are fixed on Pat’s face as his mouth works, intense and focused, like he can’t bear to miss a second of — of —

Pat shudders and jerks his hips underneath Brian as he falls apart for Brian’s perfect hands and mouth. He’s vaguely aware that he’s making a hell of a lot of noise, and also that he can’t keep himself still, but Brian just rolls with it. He slides his hands under Pat’s ass to hold Pat right up against his mouth as he works him through it, through the aftershocks that wrench gasping moans out of Pat as he spasms against Brian’s face. What an intimate and sexy way for Brian to hold him and fuck him, Pat would think, if he wasn’t busy coming his brains out.

Brian slows his movements as Pat settles, from slick frantic sucks to soft kitten licks, like he’s just tasting Pat because he _wants_ to, until Pat finally relaxes and melts down against the bed, breathing hard.

“C’mere,” Pat says softly. Later, he might be a bit embarrassed at how _needy_ he sounded, with his grabby hands and cracking voice; but in the present, Pat wants to press so much of his body against Brian’s body that it’s hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. 

Brian clambers up the bed, all ungainly legs like a foal learning to walk for the first time, but in pretty short order he’s tucked under Pat’s arm, his head lying somewhere between Pat’s chest and armpit, the no-man’s-land of someone’s torso. He runs his — slick, hm — hand across Pat’s belly, his fingers tangling through the hair under his navel, soft and gently ticklish. Brian starts to say something, but it comes out like a hoarse croak, and Pat chuckles deep in his chest when Brian clears his throat to try again. “Is it crass and ruining the afterglow if I say that _holy shit_ you taste amazing?”

Pat flushes, his hand spasming where it’s settled over Brian’s upper back. “I mean, uh, no,” Pat says, pressing a kiss to Brian’s hair. “It’s — kinda hot, actually.”

Brian twists his head up, in a position that looks very uncomfortable, but there’s a soft smile on his face that looks the picture of innocence until one notices how the corners of his mouth are painted glossy and slick. “Yeah?” Brian asks, and oh — he’s leaning up for a kiss, and oh — Pat’s leaning down for a kiss, and it’s relatively chaste, considering, but Brian still cranes his neck enough that his tongue can briefly slip into Pat’s mouth so that Pat can _taste himself, good god_.

Pat smacks his lips when he pulls away from the kiss. He hums thoughtfully. “‘S a little bit like lube, though.”

“A bit,” Brian says, laughing. “Next time I will perhaps change the order of operations.”

With a contented sigh, Brian flops back onto Pat’s chest, nuzzles his face against him. Pat runs his fingers through Brian’s hair, watching absently as it falls back into place after he ruffles it. He feels like he could stay like this all night, with Brian draped over him, Brian’s fingers strumming over his skin, the room quiet but for their breathing and the distant thrum of the city stories below.

Pat knows they should be, like, responsible adults and get up and clean up, and all things considered, it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea — Pat was sweaty before they even laid hands on each other, and he would do a lot of things for a shower right now. But, apparently, those things don’t include letting go of Brian, so Pat loops an arm around Brian’s shoulder and tugs him even farther onto his chest.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” Pat asks softly.

Brian twists to pout at him. “What of it if I am?”

“I mean, your funeral if you want to wake up gross and sticky,” Pat says, and Brian heaves the most dramatic put-upon sigh Pat’s ever heard and pushes himself up. Pat goes with him, wraps his arms around Brian’s waist in an act of protest against being any farther away from him than absolutely necessary.

Brian laughs and strokes Pat’s hair. “Do you want me to stay?” Brian says.

“Take a hint, babe,” Pat says into Brian’s ribcage, hugging him tighter. Brian’s laugh is his favorite sound in the whole universe, he’s decided, officially. “I will even share my shower with you, if you’re nice to me.”

“Oh, considerate,” Brian says. “Not sure how I can be much nicer to you than I’ve already done?”

Pat snickers. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I mean, maybe I just want you to hug me for the next forty-eight hours. Who knows! The future is so bright.”

Brian opens his mouth to quip something else, but wow Pat’s movements alerted him to the stark reality of how gross he _actually_ feels now covered in sweat and jizz and just. So many fluids. He shrugs Brian off and finally rolls out of the bed. “Okay, okay, okay. I need like. _Five_ minutes alone in the shower so I can take care of — ” he gestures vaguely to his groin — “this whole _situation_, but then I would love for you to join me in the shower and maybe wash my hair for me and kiss me a bit? I would also love to fall asleep with you and maybe wake up and fuck again depending on how we’re feeling about that. That sound good to you?”

Brian’s jaw is slightly propped open and Pat chuckles, closes it for him with two fingers. “S’good for me, Patrick, holy shit,” Brian says, awed. Then adds, softly, “I’d really like to stay.”

Pat doesn’t know quite how to respond to that, other than smiling sweet and gentle at Brian before kissing him on the bridge of his nose. “Shower,” Pat says, just as soft, “and then you and Charlie can bond while I order us some Thai food.” He presses a kiss to Brian’s forehead, then three to his lips just because he _can_, just because Brian leans up into the kisses like he doesn’t want them to end, like he wants to chase Pat’s mouth forever looking for one last lovely taste.

The water feels good pounding against Pat’s back as he scrubs away the, frankly, not so appealing mess happening everywhere, good Lord they really went for it, huh. He feels decently presentable, the eucalyptus body wash mixing with the steam of the water as Pat for once doesn’t care about using all the hot water in his building. Brian gives him a glorious seven, maybe eight minutes, before there’s a knock at the bathroom door. “You ready for me, big guy?” Brian asks when the door clicks open, and Pat can dimly hear the sound of Brian moving some items on the counter to make room for his towel.

Pat gasps and affects a wanton, slutty voice as he says,“_Yes_, I’m so ready for your _big, wet, body_.”

“_Fuuuu-uck, baby_,” Brian says, sing-song, but he’s laughing before the words are even fully finished, and he throws open the shower curtain dramatically like he’s the Phantom of the fucking Opera.

Pat rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling — can’t stop smiling — and steals a quick kiss before he moves aside to let Brian under the spray. Brian’s eyes flutter shut with a sigh. He is so beautiful, even when he blinks his eyes open again and grins at Pat and shakes his head like a wet dog to splash Pat with his hair.

Despite the tiny shower and the fact that they can’t both be under the water at the same time, it’s really nice. Nice to giggle with Brian and trade kisses, lick water off skin (his lips, his neck, the hollows of his clavicle), tease and flirt without any pressure to follow through, make Brian’s breath catch when Pat goes to his knees for Brian to wash his hair. Brian pushes his fingers into Pat’s hair and Pat tilts his chin up to look at him. They hang there in that moment until Brian exhales slowly.

“How’d I get so lucky,” Brian says, a weird smile quirking his lips after, like he didn’t even really mean to say it aloud.

Pat leans forward, rests his cheek against Brian’s thigh. “You certainly did get lucky, I’d say.”

“Oh my _god_, Pat! You know that’s not what I meant.”

Pat intends to tease back, but instead what comes out of his mouth is an unexpectedly vulnerable, “What’d you mean, then?”

Brian runs his fingers through Pat’s hair, slowly so as not to catch on any tangled parts. When he speaks, it is careful. Deliberate. “I know that we’ve both been, uh, mutually into each other since we did that — the stream with the singing —”

“Oh god,” Pat groans. That night had been a rush of fear and adrenaline and anxiety and bad decision after bad decision made in a haze of panic.

“Nooo, it was good! Everything about it was good, baby. I stand by that.” He’s still stroking Pat’s hair. “But it wasn’t where that feeling started. For, uh, for me anyway. And I’m guessin’ that was the case for you too.”

“Hah. No, you’re absolutely right.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is- is that I’ve liked you as, uh, as a human being even well before we really, well. Before we started streaming together, or- or any of it. And knowing you feel the same way — I mean, assuming you feel the same way,” Brian appends hastily, darting his eyes to Pat to confirm. 

“I definitely do,” Pat assures him.

“Okay. Cool. Good.” 

Pat snorts; Brian ignores him. 

“It’s just,” Brian continues, “ I honestly never thought you would feel the same. Hell, Pat, I thought you were _straight_ for a good long time there. “I mean,” he adds, fussing with his hair, “you said, like, you mentioned you were married before — wait, hold on, you had a wife.”

“Sure did,” Pat says. “Swear to god I’ve been every letter in LGBTQ by this point in my life. Shit’s wild.”

“Oh my god,” says Brian, with an amused exhale, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh but wants to if he can.

“Mmhm. Someday I’ll tell you that whole, uh, that whole progression,” Pat says. “No offense, though, but I kind of don’t want to get into it right now, and most of that’s cause this is hurting my knees.”

“Oh yeah! Of course, yes, of course, I’m sorry.” Brian extends a hand to Pat to help him up, and Pat kisses the backs of Brian’s knuckles before he accepts. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Pat says, standing. He traces his fingertips over Brian’s wrist, the back of his arm, follows where rivulets of water drip down his shoulder. “It’s been a long fuckin’ road here, that’s for sure. But, uh. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Which sounds super cheesy, god, but it’s true. I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I’m here with _you_.”

“Me too,” says Brian. “God, me too.”

* * *

Pat places an order for one rad na, medium spice level; one yellow curry, medium spice level; and just an absolute fuckton of cream cheese wontons, some of which he will leave for Quinn as a pre-apology for maybe having to hear them have sex in the morning (or other times, now that he and Brian are uh — maybe dating? They should really clear that up, but — )

Brian is waving a mouse on a string over Charles while Charles happily snoozes curled up on Pat’s computer chair. Brian’s completely stark naked, hair still a little damp, and he says they’re _bonding_.

“Did the clothes not fit?” Pat asks, nodding his head toward the basketball shorts and t-shirt he’d left for Brian at the foot of the bed.

Brian at least has the sense to blush. “No, I uh. Haven’t tried them on yet,” he says, “I got distracted taking like thirty photos of Charles because his little feeties were crossed.”

“Ah yes, been there.”

Brian puts down the fish toy and sighs dramatically, but pulls on the clothes. Pat has to turn away because the sight of Brian in his clothes — even his old gym clothes that have no significance and that he hasn’t worn in months, oops — is a little too much. He truly can_not_ go again, right now, especially since they’re so fresh and so clean from the shower. 

Pat coughs. “So uh.” He fidgets. “What do we, uh —”

“Oh goodness,” Brian says, sprawling out on the bed like he’s about to make a snow angel in the sheets, “_please_ tell me we’re not gonna do that thing where we stop being able to talk to each other like normal people just because you’ve seen my wiener.”

Pat barks a laugh that almost startles himself and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he says, and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

Brian reaches out and wraps his fingers around Pat’s wrist, picks Pat’s hand up off the bed and slides his palm up to twine their hands together. “I like you,” Brian says, openly, earnestly, and Pat squeezes his hand.

“I like you too,” Pat replies, shy under Brian’s intense gaze. But he takes the plunge anyway, because it’s worth it. “I’d like to keep doing this, if you want to too.”

“Uh, of _course_,” says Brian, who is beaming, who rolls over to curl toward Pat and wrap the arm not holding Pat’s hand around Pat’s waist.

“Oh, good,” Pat says. He puts his hand over Brian’s where it’s splayed out on his ribcage. “I really hoped so.”

Brian laughs, pushing his face against Pat’s back. “Please. As if I wasn’t totally gone for you the first time I made you laugh. As if I haven’t been _embarrassingly_ pining away since the friggin’ Zelda stream. There was never a chance I’d turn you down, Pat Gill. I am so goddamn into you.”

Pat hums and squeezes Brian’s hand again. “You should come over here so I can kiss you.”

Brian sits up so fast he nearly bonks Pat in the head with his head; only Pat’s quick gamer reflexes let him dodge away in time. Brian collapses against him, laughing, and Pat cups Brian’s face in his hand and tilts his chin up to kiss him, to get Brian’s smile against his mouth. Brian’s fingers skate up the hem of Pat’s shirt, just a little, just to touch the soft skin of his belly and hip and lower back, like he somehow hasn’t gotten enough of touching Pat yet.

Pat whines against Brian’s lips when his phone rings, surely signaling the delivery of their food, and he pulls away to catch his breath as he fumbles for it. Brian keeps ahold of him, goes limp and lets himself be dragged as Pat reaches for his phone. Pat rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, smiling, smiling, even as he accepts the call.

The food is good, as it always is from the place where they know Pat’s voice on the other end of the line. The spicy, tangy kisses are better. Brian steals a bite of Pat’s curry, then a kiss for good measure. All in all, it's not a very effective way to eat dinner, but it is a very effective way to flirt with your mutual crush.

Brian insists on doing the dinner cleanup, which Pat doesn’t even give a token protest about. The only thing that keeps him doing his dishes regularly is the building’s rampant mouse problem. Thank god Charlie is — well, he’s not a good hunter, but he is a cat, so that’s something.

When he’s done, they head back to Pat’s room and the door softly behind them. There’s some mumbling and shuffling around until they both get under the covers, Brian’s back tucked up against Pat’s front.

Brian hums happily as he wiggles to get himself adjusted. “How is this _so_ good?” he asks with a sigh. “It’s just spooning.”

“It’s never _just_ spooning,” Pat says sagely. “Plus this would be way worse with me as the little spoon. I’m a bony motherfucker.”

“Aw, Pat,” says Brian, “you obviously haven’t met my elbows yet.” He nudges Pat’s ribs with his elbow to emphasize his point. Pat goes _hmph_ in a grumpy sort of response and buries his face against the back of Brian’s neck. He smells good, like Pat’s shampoo but underneath that, too, just innately Brian. “I think you just like to snuggle and you’ve been told you’re too pointy!”

“Don’t diagnose my cuddle troubles,” Pat huffs.

“Oh, I’m gonna diagnose your cuddle troubles,” Brian says. “I also think —“

Pat bites his neck and Brian _squeaks;_ his whole body goes tense against Pat’s for a second before he presses back against him, as if it were even possible for them to be closer than they are.

“You can’t — you can’t _do_ that, you asshole!” Brian says. Pat licks him behind his ear and Brian’s eyes flutter shut. Pat smiles against his skin, smug, and Brian grumbles, “Okay, okay, I’m diagnosing your real cuddle troubles as _too horny_, jeez!”

Pat hums in acknowledgement and slides his hand up Brian’s shirt, lays it open-palmed on his stomach.

“Too horny, too horny by far, that is my review of your spooning technique!”

“Do you want me to dial it back?” Pat says, low and soft, aware he’s still right next to Brian’s ear.

“Not at _all_.”

Pat snickers and holds him tighter. “I’m not trying to fuck, for what it’s worth. I just — I like you — I like touching you,” he adds quickly, shying away from the real feeling like some sort of spooked horse. As if they hadn’t just talked about _feeeelings_ not even like an hour ago. But this is _Brian_, who could have anyone he wants, who Pat absolutely cannot believe he did this with, who for some miraculous reason likes Pat too. Who, if they keep doing this, is probably — surprise, congratulations! — about to get up close and personal to all of Pat’s weird anxieties and gaps in knowledge and — 

“I like you too,” Brian says, calm and confident, shifting so he can crane his head around to look at Pat. “I’m happy I’m here.”

And — and that _settles_ it. Settles Pat, somehow.

Pat keeps his hand splayed over Brian’s warm stomach, moving it in soft, slow circles that make Brian hum and scooch back into Pat’s chest. It’s so _good_ to lie here like this, and Pat half expects his anxious thoughts to crop up again at any second because that’s just par for the course with him and lying in bed with someone (or even alone). But he finds they _don’t_. They’re far away tonight. Pat knows Brian hasn’t _cured_ his anxiety, not in the slightest, but Pat feels calm. He isn’t worried, isn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, isn’t waiting for his wife to sigh and say she’s gonna sleep on the couch. 

And ah; there’s the sad thoughts. But they flit out of Pat’s head as quickly as they came. Pat nuzzles into the crook of Brian’s neck where his shoulder dips into this wonderful little spot that Pat is finding he loves to kiss. Brian loves it, too, by the way he’s squirming and sighing and melting in Pat’s grip. 

“Who do you think invented cuddling?” Brian asks, suddenly, into the dark quiet of the room. It makes Pat laugh.

“Probably the Greeks,” Pat says. “They were real into the freaky shit, it makes sense that- that they would have been the first to master the cuddling game.”

“You’re probably right,” Brian says sagely. He yawns. “Zeus was a horny bastard. He fucked someone as a swan once.”

“Why do you know that?” Pat asks, laughing again.

“Oh so you’re saying you _didn’t_ take Latin as your foreign language in high school, because you _weren’t_ a pretentious asshole?”

“I was a pretentious asshole,” Pat says, “but not that flavor. I took German, which meant I was constantly ready to fight the gross dudes in my class who were only taking it because they were way too interested in World War II history.”

“Gross,” Brian says, yawning again. 

Pat can’t help but place a kiss to his cheek, and then several more when Brian huffs and giggles. God, it’s so nice to have someone to hold, to have someone who wants Pat to wrap himself around them and stay. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this; now that he’s here, he just wants to drape his whole self over Brian, warm and wonderful and lovely and soft. Brian puts his hand on top of Pat’s and gives a sleepy-content little hum.

“We should maybe sleep,” Pat says.

“Maybe,” Brian says. He twists around to steal a kiss from Pat, blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I _guess_.”

“Mm,” agrees Pat, and kisses him, his hand dancing over Brian’s abs. Brian exhales a soft laugh against his lips and indulges him, slides his hands into Pat’s hair to kiss him again, again, again, and once more for good measure.

“Wake up at a reasonable time and we can do more of that in the morning,” Brian says, patting Pat’s cheek.

“Oh, good point,” Pat says, and Brian turns back around, resumes being the little spoon. Pat traces his thumb over Brian’s ribcage and Brian shivers. “Sorry, should I stop?”

“No,” Brian says. “It’s nice. Kinda tickles, though.”

“Sorry,” Pat says, and tries to make his touch more deliberate and less skittery-ticklish.

“I’m gonna _sleeep_,” Brian says. “But keep doing that, if you want.”

“Okay,” Pat says. He _does_ want. He thinks he might never want to stop touching Brian. “Goodnight, Brian.”

“G’night, Pat Gill,” Brian says, and even though Pat can’t see his face, Pat can hear the smile in his voice.

It almost makes up for the three times Brian hisses Pat’s name to see if he’s awake because he had a thought he needed to share _right now immediately_ at the exact moment Pat was just starting to fall asleep, even if the third time it was something inane and impossible to follow about the pigeons Brian saw that morning and Pat just goes _uh-huh_ until Brian stops talking and tells him good night yet again. Pat mumbles it back against his neck and drifts off, content.

* * *

Pat wakes up warm in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, with Brian’s arm across his chest and their legs tangled together. Brian is still dead asleep, his mouth open, and Pat can’t help but tilt his chin up to kiss Brian’s forehead. Brian gives no reaction, but Pat probably moved way more than that during the night, judging by the way they’ve both resettled.

It’s not long before Brian stirs, though; Pat’s not great at not fidgeting, and he might possibly be a little nervous-excited for Brian to wake up. Brian gives a sleepy sort of grunt and pushes his face against Pat’s shoulder, then goes _hm?_ and gently bonks his forehead into Pat’s shoulder again like he’s testing how solid it is. Pat laughs quietly and Brian blinks his eyes open, squinting at him in the morning light of the room.

Brian _smiles_, bright and absolutely delighted, and tucks his face against Pat’s neck, presses a slow kiss to his pulse point. Pat hums and Brian presses closer as he tangles his hands into Pat’s hair and keeps kissing at him. Pat can, okay, wow, he can feel Brian’s dick against his thigh, and he shifts to apply a little pressure on it. 

Brian’s breath catches as he leans into the motion. “We gonna do this thing?” Brian says into Pat’s collarbone. “‘Cause I’d love to.”

“I was thinking I could ride you,” Pat muses. “Since you’ll be doing all the work later.”

“Huh? What do you — oh my god.”

“You think you’ve got it in you to fuck me _and_ carry me through the subway later?”

“Fuck off,” Brian complains, “mister strong-and-loves-to-fuck. We aren’t all — _oh_,” he gasps, as Pat palms him over his shorts.

“You aren’t all what?” Pat asks innocently, as Brian’s eyes flutter shut.

“Fuckin’ — _you_ —”

“Fucking me? Not yet you aren’t —”

“God dammit, Pat, you kno-_ooww_ what I mean, you like, _deadlifted_ me yesterday, what the hell. I, like, _died_ live on air because you’re perfect and I want you so bad, please, Pat?”

Pat hooks a finger into the waistband of Brian’s shorts and shoots him a questioning look. Brian bites his lip as he nods. His face is flushed already, his hair a mess, his shirt rucked up to his chest. He is so beautiful. Pat can hardly stand it.

Pat works Brian’s shorts — _his_ shorts, god — off sight unseen under the thick blanket covering them. Brian wiggles his hips to help the process, and it probably hurts more than it helps, but Pat’s certainly not going to stop Brian from churning his ass like that. Finally they get them off, and Brian wriggles out of them, and then Brian is warm and wonderful under Pat’s hands. 

“I can’t believe I get to touch you,” Pat says reverently. It had just sort of slipped out — but Brian focuses on Pat and gives him a big, eye-crinkling smile. 

“You can touch me any time and any way you’d like,” Brian says. He places one of his hands on top of Pat’s, then drags them both together up Brian’s torso until his hand is firm across the span of Brian’s chest. Pat squeezes, gets the meat of one pec in his hand and spreads, and Brian hums a soft _mmm_ noise as his eyes slip closed again. 

“You fallin’ asleep on me?” Pat asks, massaging Brian’s chest while his other hand skims purposefully down Brian’s stomach toward his groin. 

“No,” Brian says obstinately. He cracks open one eye. “S’just. Feels good.”

“_You_ feel good,” Pat says. He slides his fingers through the curly hairs at Brian’s groin, and his wrist bumps into Brian’s cock where he’s mostly hard. Brian hisses out a breath at the accidental contact, rolls his hips in the tiniest movement toward Pat’s body. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pat whispers, dragging his other hand down to Brian’s hip. He settles on his knees, budged up next to Brian’s body. 

“Yes,” Brian says warily, “but I have a feeling you’re about to- to fuckin’ no-scope me.”

Pat chuckles and squeezes Brian’s hip. “Maybe so,” he says, then adds, “I woke up aching for you inside me again.”

“Okay, _wow_, yes, jeez, Pat,” Brian says, and Pat laughs. “I mean, like, me _too_,” he adds, “if that’s not weird to say — ”

“I think we’ve established that we’re on the same page here,” Pat says, letting his hand slide just a little lower until he’s almost touching the base of Brian’s dick. Brian draws a breath but doesn’t push, waits for Pat to move ahead on his terms. God, Pat likes him so much. “Wanna take your shirt off?”

“Maybe,” Brian teases, looking up at Pat through his eyelashes, “if you take yours off too, handsome.”

Pat opens his mouth to flirt back but closes it again with a click as a sudden vice grip of nerves grabs him around the lungs. He freezes, his hand stilling where it’s poised over Brian’s dick, anxiety clawing at the chest he remembered to be worried about. 

Brian catches the hesitation, because it’s not at all subtle, and rushes to add, “I was t-teasing, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I do,” Pat says, because he does, it’s just — things had been a lot more rushed last night, crashing their bodies into each other and focusing more on the main event than everything else. Even still, there’s a shiver of anxiety down Pat’s back because, _yeah_ Brian saw pretty much every part of him yesterday but _also_. Positioned like this, Brian’s direct line of sight includes Pat’s nipples, which he doesn’t really want inspected. Don’t get him wrong, he loves having a flat chest, loves not wearing binders anymore, but he’s still kind of self-conscious about the scars. Even two years out — and also for forever — the scars are faded but his nipples look a little gnarly. Pat knows there’s nothing inherently bad or weird about how they look, he’d never mind it on anyone else, but. It’s different when it’s his body. Normal is fake, except when it comes to himself. His therapist loves truth-talking him with that one. And it’s so not sexy to be thinking about cognitive behavioral therapy and nipple grafts while he is trying to fuck Brian, and whoops — he is spiraling, and he doesn’t know how to say that without bringing up surgery, and the slow-motion trainwreck of his last relationship, and — 

Brian strokes his fingers along the inside of Pat’s forearm. “Really, Pat, there’s no expectation here of anything at all. I wanna do what you’re comfortable with, okay? Let’s take a sec and figure that out together?”

Pat nods, hating that his shoulders go tight with tension, and Brian pulls on his arm until he collapses against Brian’s side. “Sorry,” he mumbles into Brian’s shirtsleeve.

“_Nooo_, baby, it’s okay. You’re perfect. Can we walk it back and figure out what happened?”

“I mean,” Pat says, “I got, uh, got all weird about shit. That’s all.” He presses his lips together, keeps his forehead against Brian’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at him. Lord, he hates it when he can’t just _say_ what’s going on with himself, it shouldn’t be that hard — 

“Was it when I asked you to take your shirt off?” Brian asks. He rubs soothing circles into Pat’s back, and Pat leans into the touch, successfully soothed.

Pat nods and doesn’t look at Brian, can’t look at him, won’t look at him.

Brian sighs. “Shit, I didn’t even ask, really, did I? I made it sound like you had to, or I wouldn’t get naked. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve put it that way. I’m not — I’m not trying to exchange, uh, goods and services,” he says, trying for a light and teasing tone. When Pat looks at Brian out of the corner of his eye, he has a nervous-hopeful-worried little smile on his face, like he’s trying to pull one out of Pat, too. “I’m happy doing the things you like, even if it changes every time. Okay?”

Pat nuzzles his face against him, warm cheek to warm cheek. “Okay,” Pat says. “Logically I know that, but sometimes brain? Not work so good. It’s — I’m not great at putting words to it. I think, uh, I think maybe even just coming at. Nudity. From a different angle would be okay.” It dawns on Pat that in all the years he’s been having sex, like, not a lot of it has involved taking off all his clothes before. There’s vulnerability strumming through his body even _considering_ doing it again, flaying himself open like that. But Pat finds that he _wants_ to bare himself (literally and metaphorically) before Brian, and that’s almost as startling as anything else.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Brian says gently. “Do you want to keep going, or do you want to stop? It’s okay if you’re done, I promise.”

“I — no, I wanna keep going. Will you kiss me?” Pat asks, looking fully at Brian. Brian rewards Pat, tugs him close and kisses him slow and sweet with Pat’s face held fast in his hands. Pat presses closer, slides his hands up Brian’s back, and then down again to Brian’s ass. He feels bad; all of that was _for sure_ a death sentence for Brian’s boner but, Pat supposes, there’s ways to fix that.

Such as: he slides down Brian’s body, pressing kisses to Brian’s sleep-soft skin as he goes. Brian squirms under his roaming fingers and hands, and when Brian hisses at the touch of Pat’s lips to Brian’s hipbone, Pat pauses and looks up at Brian through his eyelashes. He’s been told before that this is a devastating angle for him, and Pat adds another data point to that when Brian _gasps_ and moves his twitching hand to Pat’s cheek. 

“May I?” Pat asks.

“Yeah,” Brian says, breathless, “whatever you want.”

Pat shoulders the blankets the rest of the way out of his way and pushes Brian’s legs apart to kiss his thighs, looking up at Brian’s face all the while. Brian watches him with wide, dark eyes and it is a lot. Brian is a _lot_ when his focus is directed on one singular thing, but it’s the kind of _a lot_ that reverberates through Pat’s body and draws him closer like a moth to a flame.

_Whatever you want_ is almost overwhelming for all the things that Pat finds he does want. He wants to get under Brian’s skin and never leave, wants to roll around in the sheets until Pat can breathe in their scent even when Brian’s left. He wants to bite a dark hickey into Brian’s inner thigh, wants to pepper his stomach with kisses, wants to nuzzle Brian’s knees and finds all of his ticklish spots. 

And yes, Pat _absolutely_ wants to suck Brian’s dick. 

Nestling himself between someone’s thighs to use his mouth on them is highly familiar to Pat, even if Brian’s, uh, setup is different from what he’s used to. But Pat’s never read an instructional manual in his whole goddamn life — for video games or putting together Ikea furniture or sex — so he takes Brian’s cock in hand and drags his tongue from root to tip. 

Brian draws a shuddery gasp, exhales it in a quiet _oh_ when Pat finishes the licking motion. 

“Any hot tips?” Pat murmurs, not moving his mouth more than a hair’s breadth away from the head of Brian’s cock.

“_Jesus_, uh.” Brian stumbles over his words, laughs, a little _hah_ that turns into a squeak when Pat licks his cock again. Pat feels very pleased with himself — he could get used to this kind of response. 

“That’s a good place to start,” Brian says weakly. “Please don’t bite my d-dick off, and other than that, it’s uh. Pretty self-explanatory.”

“Noted,” Pat says. He _wants_ to keep eye contact with Brian, but even more than that he doesn’t want to accidentally do something he shouldn’t with his teeth. So he looks down to Brian’s dick and huh. That’s a dick. It’s still a dick when Pat slides his mouth just barely over the head so his tongue can swirl around like Pat’s seen in the myriad of porn that he’s watched in his lifetime. He knows that most porn is very much fake, but Brian seems to like this move at least — he hitches his breath and Pat watches Brian clench both sets of fingertips in the sheets. 

Pat tries to take more in his mouth, feeling overconfident, but he chokes almost immediately and has to pull back and regroup. Switches back to the tongue-swirling thing, biding his time to try again. But before he can wrestle his gag reflex into submission, Brian brings a shaky hand to the top of his head, not moving, just — holding. It’s nice. Pat bumps his head into the pressure like Charlie does when he wants attention.

“You don’t have to hurry,” Brian says. “It feels, you feel really good like this. I don’t — it’s not a sprint to the finish wh-where you have to, like, deepthroat me immediately.”

“Someday though,” Pat says, partially-mumbled around Brian’s cock, and then Pat chuckles as Brian throws an arm over his eyes like he can’t believe Pat just said that. Pat’s sure Brian’s thinking up some sort of devastating quip, something and very smart and cute and witty, so Pat beats him to it and brings one hand to the base of Brian’s cock. He slides it up about halfway, then slowly, _so_ slowly, drags his lips down and around Brian’s cock to meet it. And, just as predicted, Brian does not get the opportunity to quip anything because he’s too busy gasping and rocking ever so gently into Pat’s grasp.

“I — oh, _Patrick_,” Brian sighs, and Pat hums, pleased by the sound of his name spilling like drops of water from Brian’s lips. “‘S _good_, baby.” 

Pat closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the praise, the feel of Brian’s hand in his hair and his cock in his mouth. This has always been where he’s most in his element, when he’s settled between someone’s legs, devoting his whole attention and focus on making them feel good. Brian’s not holding anything back, so Pat figures out what he likes relatively quickly — from the beginner move set that Pat’s unlocked so far, at least. Pat gets a heady rush from feeling Brian’s thighs shake as he fights against bucking up into Pat’s mouth; he whimpers _so_ beautifully as Pat works his hand on him slowly, as Pat explores him with his lips and tongue to find what makes Brian wail.

“Pat — _Pat_, babe, if you — if you keep doing that I’m gonna come,” Brian gasps, and Pat pulls back with a touch of remorse. Brian whines as Pat absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the base of his cock and looks him over.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Pat says. Brian gives a soft _oh_. “Will you take your shirt off for me?”

Brian scrambles to oblige him, which is cute as hell. He emerges from the t-shirt with his hair mussed and his face flushed and grinning. Pat can’t help but move up to kiss that sweet smile off his lips, to feel Brian’s hands settle at the small of his back. Brian’s fingers hesitate just above the bottom of Pat’s shirt, waiting for guidance or permission. Pat kisses him once more, then gently turns Brian’s face away from him with a press of his jaw. Brian closes his eyes and smiles, this little fond quirk of his lips as he tilts his head away, and Pat is filled with a rush of affection for him.

Pat pulls off his shirt and, figuring he might as well simplify things, his shorts and underwear too. Then he cups Brian’s face in his hands, turns him forward, and kisses him again. Brian gives a happy little hum and pulls Pat closer; they both sigh in unison at the feel of their bare skin pressed together.

“How are you so wonderful,” Brian says, fitting short syllables into the spaces between kisses, “not even fair, fuck, I want you so bad.”

Pat slings his leg over Brian’s hips so he can crawl on top of him. He kisses down Brian’s jaw, his neck. “Me too, baby,” he says, low and soft, and feels Brian’s hips rock upward against nothing. He smooths his palm over Brian’s chest, down his arm, to take his hand; he lifts it to press his lips to Brian’s knuckles. Brian watches him, wide-eyed and with bated breath, waiting patiently for Pat’s next move. His eyes remain fixed on Pat’s face. The attentiveness is flattering, but more than that, Brian doesn’t go searching for whatever Pat was anxious about before. It’s a consideration Pat is grateful for, even if the worst of it has passed and he doesn’t think he’d mind now if Brian dragged his gaze down to Pat’s chest.

“Please,” Brian says, on a soft exhale, and any part of Pat that remained devoted to teasing, to drawing it out further, evaporates like rainwater on a hot city day. He kisses Brian’s knuckles again, then lifts Brian’s hand to his cheek and leaves it there. Brian’s fingers trace over his jaw, the side of his neck, his shoulder, then slide down to rest against Pat’s chest. There is honest, open wonder on his face, genuine joy, and, god, if Pat’s not careful, he’s going to trip and fall right in love with Brian if he keeps looking at Pat like this.

Pat kneels over Brian’s hips and gets himself into a good position, or what he thinks is a good position — he’s never done this from this angle before, and wow he sure is trying a lot of new and wonderful things with Brian, huh? Something warm and syrupy spreads through him at the thought. Because even though sometimes his brain and heart clench with anxiety, with lingering body shit, at his core he _trusts_ Brian, wants to be vulnerable with him. Pat supposes that once you stick a bunch of temporary tattoos all over someone or improv music with them, there’s not a lot more vulnerable you can get than that.

He reaches down, fumbling a little, but gets Brian’s cock in his hand and gives it a couple strokes for good measure, which Brian seems to like if his soft gasps are any indication. Brian rubs his thumbs along Pat’s sternum, then up across his collarbone, which makes Pat shiver. It’s the perfect counterpoint to the buzzing anticipation in his groin when Pat — ah — lines them up and _slowly_ sinks down over Brian’s body until his ass is fully seated on Brian’s thighs and Brian’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates but still so intense and beautiful focused on Pat’s face.

“Wow,” Pat says, kind of dumbly, shifting his hips and adjusting his knees to get into a better position. 

“Yeah,” Brian breathes, just as dumb, and it makes Pat laugh, how he’s reduced this eloquent man to one-word pleas and breaths. Brian gently smacks his shoulder, but smiles so big and so bright as he slides his hands down to Pat’s hips. “Move? Please?”

“Of course,” Pat murmurs, then adds _fuck_ when he rolls his hips and the press of Brian’s dick inside him feels like so _much_, just — so full. _Fill me up with your come_, Pat had thought last night, and it’s no less true in the morning; he just wants to be stuffed with Brian in any way possible, the _want_ of it all almost making him dizzy. 

“I’ve — hold on,” Pat says as he tries to readjust, raise his hips up from his current position without letting Brian slip out or without having to bounce up on his toes in a terrible modified squat. He mumbles a curse under his breath, but Brian is _so_ patient, just strokes warmly at Pat’s hips while Pat figures out what to do, how to move his body in this new-old dance.

It feels _good_, is the thing, even when he’s clumsy at it, but his learning curve is sharp and it’s, okay, wow, it’s not long before Brian’s not really petting at him and is instead more grabbing at him. Pat leans forward a little, his hair falling around his face, breathing hard as he — _Jesus Christ_ — fucks himself on Brian’s cock.

“Hey,” Brian says, and Pat blinks at him, “hey, can I touch your dick?”

“Uh-_huh_,” Pat gets out.

Brian smiles, sweet and pleased, and gently, so gently, traces his fingers over Pat’s cock. Pat whines, fully losing his rhythm at the sensation. He’s sensitive, good god, and Brian’s cognizant of that, keeps his touch light but present, and it’s so — 

“_Brian_,” Pat sighs.

Brian hums, low and soft, his eyes closing in contentment. “Feels good,” Brian says, somehow both a statement and an inquiry. 

Pat nods, aware that his mouth is hanging open and his fingers are digging into Brian’s skin but not able to do anything about either of those things. Pat’s allotted his higher functioning elsewhere, to the way he can twist to get Brian’s cock deep and perfect, to the way he tries not to let his hips stutter or let himself fall apart at the way Brian touches him, to the way it makes him gasp and twitch and bear down on Brian, god, _god_.

Pat could, he decides, spend an eternity doing this, if his body would let him. If he could just be touched, be held, be full and cared for and looked at the way Brian’s looking at him right now — like Brian wants him, like he’s happy. If Pat could save the way he feels in this moment, with Brian rubbing his dick and with every part of Pat attuned to every part of Brian, he could bottle and keep this for when his chest feels hollow with loneliness. An inarguable data point of _yes, this happened, and it was good_.

But it’s not past tense, not yet, so Pat draws his attention back to Brian, watches his face as Pat moves: he bites his lip and gasps and moans, and his eyebrows draw together, and his eyes squeeze shut. He’s shaking under Pat, either with need or with the effort of holding himself together. “Please, Pat,” he breathes, and Pat would give him the whole world if he could.

“You sh — _ah!_ — should come whenever you need to, baby,” Pat says, swiveling his hips in a move that maybe takes more core strength than he has at this point in his life, but it’s worth the sore muscles when Brian whines and bucks into him.

“But I wanna get you off,” Brian says, his breath hitching. He rubs faster against Pat’s cock, which makes Pat’s thighs stutter and jerk toward Brian’s hand.

“Trust me,” Pat pants, “I am gonna hold you to that. But don’t w-wait on acc — on — for me.” He’s _so_ close, his orgasm just _right there_, what feels like inches away, but he doesn’t know if he can get there at this angle and speed. Another time, Pat thinks, giddy and stupid. He can practice this one and blow Brian’s world — rock Brian’s mind — something like that.

“_Oh_,” Brian says. He brings his free hand up to Pat’s cheek, cups it in his palm, strokes with soft fingers at Pat’s skin. “Just keep — _yeah_ — doing that.”

“This?” Pat asks, legitimately unsure of what feels the best for Brian in this scenario, but Brian practically squawks when Pat lifts an inch and then rocks down and forward in a way that shoves Brian’s cock even deeper than before. Definitely _this_.

Pat turns his head to place a kiss into the base of Brian’s palm, and that seems to be it for Brian, then. He gasps, “Pat, oh gosh, I think — you’re —” and then his hips fuck up _hard_ into Pat, almost unseating him, but Pat hangs on because it feels amazing to literally ride Brian like that, deep and sure and amazing. 

Brian drapes his arm across his chest, breathing hard, but he’s smiling as brightly as Pat’s ever seen him, even as he catches his breath. He breathes out a long _hoo_ and scratches idly at his stomach, the picture of sated. 

He basks in the afterglow for only a moment longer. “Your turn,” Brian says suddenly, and pushes himself upright. In the process, he knocks Pat off-balance from his _very extremely careful polite stillness_, and Pat yelps — embarrassing — but Brian doesn’t laugh at him. Brian is on a mission, and his mission is, apparently, to tackle Pat and kiss him, fast and frantic and excited, over and over. 

Pat feels Brian fighting a smile and it makes him smile too. When Brian kisses him again and just gets teeth, he laughs and moves his lips to Pat’s jaw, his neck, more quick eager kisses as he slides his hand up Pat’s thigh. When his hand reaches Pat’s dick again, Pat gasps and bucks up against him.

“I would love nothing more than to suck your dick,” Brian says, “if you’re cool with that —”

“Yes,” Pat interrupts, “_yes_.” 

Pat has no idea how Brian is such a bundle of excited energy this early in the morning but he fuckin’ goes for it, no preamble, gets himself on down between Pat’s thighs and buries his face against Pat’s body. He drags his tongue over Pat’s cock, and Pat has learned all sorts of new and exciting things about himself in the past twelve hours, because he hadn’t known that he would straight-up cry out at Brian licking over him. Fuck, he hopes Quinn already left for work, but that can’t be helped now — Pat shoves his knuckles against his mouth to muffle any more, just in case.

“No, you don’t gotta be quiet, let me hear you,” Brian says, and, fuck, _okay, fuck, sure, just put your mouth back on me_ — and Brian laughs but obeys, flicks his tongue against Pat’s dick, quick motions that drag more sounds out of Pat. He’s so close, he needs it, needs him, needs _Brian, please_.

Pat tangles his fingers into Brian’s hair, keeps him right there — as if Brian would move away now — and does nothing to stop the staccato-voiced gasps that Brian teases out of him. Nor does he do anything about the way his voice pitches up in desperation as pleas pour out of him, words like “yes,” and “please,” and “fuck,” and “Brian,” and “I need,” and “baby, please,” and “_please_.” Pat feels the sparks in his pelvis again, god he’s gonna come so hard for this beautiful boy sucking him off. He tries to articulate that, bring around the sexy dirty talk, but he only gets as far as dropping his voice into a growl while he slurs something like, “ohgod _fuck_, fuck _me_.”

And when Pat comes, he devolves into voiceless gasps that aren’t even words at all. 

Brian slows the movements of his tongue but keeps the pressure steady and sweet, and Pat rolls his hips into Brian’s face in a way that is probably rude, all things considered. Brian doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he moans sloppily around Pat’s dick. After just a few moments, Pat jerks his hips away, oversensitive and tingly and a little wobbly, like his bones are made of jello. 

“How are- how are you so good at that?” Pat asks between panted breaths, one of his hands flopping to search for Brian’s on the bedspread. When he makes contact, Brian tangles their fingers together and brings Pat’s hand to his mouth for a smooch. That alone gives Pat the energy to get his muscles working together enough to flip himself onto his side. He scooches under Brian’s arm, insistent about it until he’s tucked there, nestled perfectly.

“It’s- it’s easy when you’re so responsive,” Brian murmurs. He kisses Pat’s hair, and Pat melts as the last traces of orgasm tingles work their way out of his fingers and toes. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of figuring out what makes you feel good.”

“Please don’t,” Pat says, open and sincere and perhaps too honest in the late-morning light, but Brian seems on board: he kisses Pat’s hair and rubs the fingers from his dry hand delicately over the sweaty skin of Pat’s shoulder.

“I will do my very best,” Brian says resolutely. “You’re — gosh, Patrick, I definitely shouldn’t say this, but I’m. A little in love with you, I think.”

Pat stares at him, his mouth open; he tries to speak but only the smallest of sounds comes out. Tries again. “I — _Brian_,” he says, overwhelmed.

Brian looks for all the world like he’s about to backtrack at full speed but Pat hauls Brian in with grabby hands and kisses him and kisses him and _kisses him_. Pat tastes a mix of Brian and himself in Brian’s mouth, and not even that weird sensation deters him from kissing again and again. He holds Brian’s face in his hands and kisses him like he could bury himself in Brian’s embrace.

“Pat,” Brian breathes against his lips.

“I think I’m a little in love with you, too,” Pat replies, and Brian makes a soft, surprised, joyous sound and hugs him so tight, wraps all his limbs around Pat like he can’t hug him enough with just his arms. Pat laughs and kisses Brian again, his lips and cheeks and nose and forehead, whatever he can get to.

They’re grinning at each other, breathless and _happy_, for only a moment before a troubled look crosses Brian’s face. He glances around the room.

“What?” says Pat.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Brian says slowly, “but what time is it?”

“Oh no,” Pat says, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. “_Oh no_.”

“Oh dear.”

“No matter what we do we are gonna be super fuckin’ late,” Pat says, grimacing.

“Mmh,” Brian says. “Well, if that’s all! We’re both late every day anyway. Come kiss me more before we clean up?”

“We are gonna get so distracted if you kiss me,” Pat groans.

“Uh-huh! And we’re also going to walk in late, together, with me wearing your clothes. I really doubt that there’s anything we can do to be less obvious, at this point.”

“Fair enough,” Pat says. He allows himself to be tugged to his feet by a kissy boy who’s stolen his heart, even though they’re both gonna have to work until like _seven_ tonight to meet their hourly requirements. Is that love? Pat thinks so.

* * *

No matter how he tries to talk himself into being _totally calm and not anxious at all why is he even worried_, Pat feels his face burning as he follows Brian out of the Vox elevator only a half-step behind. Brian had dug through Pat’s closet to find something appropriate for work that was also not instantly recognizable as one of Pat’s three outfits (“_Hey_!”). Pat figured he deserved it, though, when Brian raised his eyebrows and held up the best thing he could find: a plain heather gray shirt with a sriracha stain on the collar. 

Whatever. Pat didn’t invite Brian home to be judged about his fashion sense.

“Hey, Clayton, they’re here!” Simone calls toward the back of the bullpen as soon as they walk in, which, thanks, Simone, that’s exactly what he needed. Pat narrows his eyes at her when everyone in the vicinity’s eyes turn in their direction. Logically, Pat knows that they’re simply drawn to the sound, but logic means nothing to the goddamn capillaries in his face that decide that it’s blushin’ time.

“Well, give them two seconds to get in the door,” Clayton says, crossing the room toward them. Brian and Pat exchange a brief look, then Brian shrugs and smiles and veers off towards his desk. Pat sighs and drops his bag onto his chair. He tries his best to deflect, raises his eyebrows at Simone and Clayton.

“We made it,” Pat says dryly. “I’m sure you were concerned.”

“Oh, _very_,” Simone says, grinning. She leans her hip against her desk as Brian approaches.

“Pat, why’d you wear that jacket today?” Brian says as a “greeting,” affecting a whine. “The only one I’ve got on hand is the exact same style and _almost_ the same color, and —”

“Take it up with my stylist,” Pat huffs.

“You _are_ your stylist!”

“Well, then, don’t know what to tell you,” Pat says. Simone and Clayton are watching them like a tennis match. “Find me a new wardrobe and we’ll talk. Where’d your denim jacket go?”

“I left it at your apartment,” Brian whines, and then blinks rapidly as he catches himself too late. 

Pat looks at Brian. Brian looks at Pat. They both look at Simone and Clayton.

“Oh my god, you two.” Simone sighs. “I wasn’t gonna mention it, but, like, Pat, you’ve got a —” She cuts herself off, snickering. “Pat, you’ve got a _hickey_.”

Pat gasps, fully scandalized, and wheels around to face Brian. “You weren’t going to _tell me?”_

“I told you!” Brian says. “I sent you a text!”

“You sent me a text while you were standing next to me on the subway that said ‘nice shoulders,’ I don’t think —”

Brian narrows his eyes. “I _did_ also tell you that no matter how much you fussed with your shirt, it was going to move and this exact thing would happen.”

Pat covers his face with his hands. “It was my only other clean shirt,” he says sadly.

Brian, damn him, laughs and nervously pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry, Clayton,” he says, putting on his best _I’m new here and trying my best_ voice. “We didn’t mean to be so behind schedule.”

“Uh-huh,” Clayton says. But he’s grinning when he adds, “No, you’re fine. Get yourselves together and let’s go before the lunch rush.”

“Hope you’re not too tired to carry Pat around, Brian!” Simone says as Brian and Clayton head toward his desk to get god-knows-what that they need for their excursion. Brian flips her off and she cackles and shoves Pat with her shoulder.

When she and Pat are alone, Simone quiets, gives Pat a meaningful look that he’s not sure he knows the meaning of. She asks in a hushed tone, “Was he nice to you? You have to tell me if he wasn’t.”

“Simone, c’mon, you’d’ve been met with a completely different scene if he wasn’t,” Pat says, and she smiles.

“Can me and Allegra steal you away for lunch sometime this week? Or are you _spoken for_.”

“No, you’re just gonna grill me for details,” Pat grumbles, poorly fighting a smile. “I’ll have to have my people call your people.”

“Tell your people that I’ll buy you a coffee,” Simone says.

“_Fine_. Tomorrow. If you insist.”

“I do insist! Okay, you should go, Brian looks impatient,” she says, as if she hadn’t been the one keeping Pat behind. “And. I’m happy for you, you big nerd.”

Pat smiles, and then she shoves his shoulder to get him to move. He stumbles dramatically, leaving her laughing, as he joins Brian and Clayton.

* * *

The two of them stay late, finishing the last bits of editing for the highlights video, which means just as they came in together, they leave together. Pat clears his throat as they walk outside so Brian doesn’t startle when Pat gently grabs him by the elbow and pulls them both out of the way of people walking.

“So, uh,” Pat says, with a wry sort of smile, “whatcha up to tonight?”

“Oh, I’m — I’m recording with Laura and Jo for the podcast tonight,” Brian says with a wince. “But, y’know, my Friday night is wide open.”

“_O-ho_, is that so?”

Brian beams and leans up for a kiss, lacing his fingers with Pat’s. “Mmhmm,” he hums. “You should come over, baby.”

“Okay,” Pat says, and steals another kiss. “It’s a date.”

“Fuck _yeah_ it is!” Brian says, way too loud. He’s radiating delight as he starts to step back and head off, but then he lists forward and uses the momentum to kiss Pat one more time. “Love you,” he says, quick, already starting to move away again, like he could bolt if Pat doesn’t say it back.

Pat holds Brian’s hand tight, though, and catches him before he can disappear into the night. He kisses Brian’s cheek and says, “Love you too. Text me later?”

“You know it,” Brian says, grinning. He shoots Pat a wink and a pair of finger guns as he walks away backwards towards where he parked his car. Pat sees, even as Brian turns away, that the smile stays on his face. Brian walks with a skip in his step, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and Pat is _so_ in love. 

Pat looks at the ground and bites his lip on his own smile, after Brian disappears. He heads for home, feeling warm in a way he hasn’t in a long, long time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [making perfect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994075) by [polyside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyside/pseuds/polyside)


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